


Diary Of A Closet Gay

by LennysDiary



Category: Original Work
Genre: #SorryNotSorry, Agnostic Character, Asphyxiation, Atheism, Atheist Character, BDSM, Being Gay In A Small Town, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Choking, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Consensual Kink, Crack Treated Seriously, Diary/Journal, Drug Use, Dubcon Kissing, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, If You Don't Like Slipknot GTFO, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Pseudo rape, Recreational Drug Use, Repressed Anger, Rimming, Rock Music Overload, Rough Sex, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Sexual Roleplay, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2019-12-18 08:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 134,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18245951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennysDiary/pseuds/LennysDiary
Summary: [ON HIATUS]Lenny Bordeaux is happy being in the closet. In such a small town, news spreads fast, and he doesn't want the drama attached to coming out. But when his boyfriend Justin forcibly outs them to his family, it changes everything.Soon, he becomes entangled with Mack, Justin's older brother, who's carefree way of life has a certain appeal.Life is complicated, and Lenny just wants to be who he is, with nothing standing in his way. Only that's the problem.Everything stands in his way.And the biggest obstacle?Himself.





	1. Outed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Lenny here to tell you the author is really bad at summaries. Basically, this is the story of how I came out of the closet and started banging my boyfriend's older brother. Capeesh? Right, so, on with the story now.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mack is old enough to be my father._
> 
> _Well, not literally. More figuratively speaking, but still._
> 
> _And not only that but he's my boyfriend's brother._
> 
> _This is not appropriate, right?_

Man, I don’t really have any fucking clue how I’m supposed to start out these types of things, so I guess I’ll just start with, I’m gay?

Oh, and I’m in love with my boyfriend’s older brother.

So, yeah, there’s that. I know it’s probably not the most articulate opening, but I’ve never been big on subtlety. Yeah, I know right? A closet gay that isn’t big on subtlety. But there you have it. Now onto the story, right? Um, right, so, here goes nothing…

*Sigh*

Justin and I started dating kind of accidentally. We were friends through high school, but I never knew he was gay until after we graduated. I got on his laptop and he forgot to close his browser tabs. Saw a whole bunch of gay porn sites pulled up. He got really embarrassed about it, but I decided to tell him a secret of my own. That I was into guys too. So we tried some shit together. Been with each other ever since. It’s been like eight years and we’re still together.

Not much has changed except we live with each other now.

Nobody knows about us though. Everyone thinks we’re roommates, and that’s fine with me. If you ask me, it’s nobody’s business but ours. Justin says I have something called internalized homophobia or some shit. Whatever that means. But goddammit, it’s nobody’s fucking business, alright?... But I digress, as in, I’m getting off track here, because the whole point of writing this stupid thing is so you know how Mack and I end up together, right?

Like, this story ain’t about Justin. He’s in it, but he’s a side character. So I could make a long story short, but you want the long story, and I guess it had to come out sooner or later.

I’ll just drop some basics first, so you get an idea of where this is going.

Like, I can’t stand Justin. I really can’t. Between you and me, I hate just about everything about him nowadays. His music sucks, his hair is stupid, but he’s really good at giving head. I mean, we sort of became friends in the first place because we live in a small town and there’s not really a whole lot of people, or much of anything to do. And most people are pretty put off by me. Some were too scared to even look in my direction when I got out of lock-up.

I did two years in juvy for wiring a guy’s jaw shut, totally missed my freshman and junior year of highshool, and when people look at me they think I must be psycho or something. I have piercings and tattoos, which apparently means I'm a mental case. But Justin was cool about it. Mostly because I don’t _talk_ about it. I let my past stay in the past, where it should be, because it ain’t nobody’s business but mine. And we've stayed together all this time because of it.

Also, I'm...not really good at the whole break-up thing.

So anyway, I didn’t really like Justin even when we were in highshool, but he invited me over one weekend and that’s when I met his brother. Everybody calls him Mack, and Mack was pretty cool, so I stuck around. I mean, he’s not really your typical bro type. He’s in construction, he’s got badass looking tattoos, he smokes, and I’m pretty sure he’s been locked up before, but I’ve never asked. That’s none of my fucking business.

So, he’s thirty-eight. And yes, I’m twenty-eight. So there’s a bit of an age gap. Case in point, I started hanging out with Justin because his brother’s pretty cool, and I don’t have any family. But trust me, this is not one of those “I have daddy issues, so I look to you as a parental figure” clichés. He’s just cool, and I like him.

But, see, _that’s_ the problem. Like, I _like_ him, know what I’m saying?

But, anyway, you get the picture at least.

Like, Justin and I have really nothing in common, but it's better than being alone, and with Justin comes certain bonuses.

(Like ogling Mack, who is hot as hell. Just saying.)

I know this makes me sound like a dick, like I could care less about Justin and I’m just using him, but trust me, it’s not like that, and believe me, Justin hates everything about me too. He hates the way I dress, the way I act, and is always trying to get me to change little things about myself. He’s constantly bitching at me about shit, and I hate that too. But I’m terrified of being alone. All I really have is Justin. I don’t have anyone else.

And sometimes ( _sometimes_ , mind you) he’s not so bad, and is kind of pretty good. But it’s like… I’m not good enough for him. Not good enough for anybody.

So, getting to the point, I’ve been terrified of coming out of the closet because I know how people might react, and I don’t want that shit. But Justin is like, super pro LGBTQ (I won’t lie, I don’t know what half those letters stand for) and he just wants to be able to “be himself”, all the time, not part of the time, or some shit, so he wants to tell his parents. I guess I’m cool with that. Like, who am I to stop him from living his life however he wants, right?

So we go to his mom’s house first, and I go along for moral support I guess.

I don’t really want to be here, right? But like, I feel like I have to be.

His mom’s actually somewhat cool about it. Not too cool? But like, one of those people that doesn’t say fag every other word, so she’s polite about it at least. She’s Christian, so she’s all about “love thy neighbor” and so she just changes the subject right in the middle of Justin talking. It’s kind of hilarious to watch his face turn red and shit because he’s all mad at his mom for not letting him talk. (He’s a drama queen.)

But out of nowhere, he decides to tell his mom we’re not just roommates, that we’re also _fucking_. The dude just outs me, just like that. Not like anything super bad happens? But still.

That’s not cool. Like, at all. And I’m not comfortable with the shit. I’m not ready for it, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I could’ve been happy with no one ever knowing. But too fucking late now. Thanks Justin. So I start getting all twitchy in front of Justin’s mom, who’s just like sitting there in her church clothes, some sort of pastel pant-suit, and she’s staring hardcore at me like, “How dare you fuck my son.”

And I’m over here next to Justin, and now I have to be like, “Yeah, hey, so–uh–my name’s Lenny, and I suck dick.” Not cool. Habitually I reach in my pocket for a cigarette when I remember we can’t smoke in Linda’s house, so I bolt from the couch and head for the front porch. My leg shakes the whole time I’m smoking and I can’t make it stop. Justin follows me, sits down next to me on the steps, saying, “Babe, are you okay?”

He puts his hand on my back and I lean away from the touch.

“No, I’m fucking _not_ okay, man,” I tell him. “Goddammit, Justin, I didn’t want anyone knowing about me! It’s my goddamn life and I should be able to tell whoever I want to tell about myself, or not at all! And you just did it for me! I wasn’t ready for this shit and I don’t know if I’ll _ever_ be ready for this shit!”

Justin huffs, getting irritated. “Could you please lower your voice? You’re being childish right now,” he asks, condescendingly, with that annoyingly bitchy voice of his. “Lenny, this is ridiculous. It’s not like I posted it all over the internet. I just told my mom.”

“Yeah? And who’s she going to tell?” I bark at him. “Now the whole goddamned town is going to know I’m a fucking fag.”

Justin winces at the word, but takes a deep breath, like he’s trying hard to remain calm in face of my meltdown. I gotta give him credit there. Because if he were me, I definitely wouldn’t be as calm as he is right now. I would be bitching at me too. But right now, I don’t really care. I’m shaking, I’m pissed, cigarette’s not really helping, and neither is Justin because he’s talking to me like I’m a fucking five year old.

I fucking _hate_ that.

It takes everything in me to keep from snapping completely, and I start grinding my teeth.

“You’re not alone in this, I’m here for you. We're in this together. So could you please try to be more supportive? I know you said it’s your life, but it’s my life too, and I’m tired of staying in the dark about us. I want people to know.”

Yeah, but I don’t. Justin doesn’t seem to care though.

And it hurts, honestly. Hurts more than I can put into words. But he’s all I’ve got, and he’s been there for me when I needed him ( _sometimes_ ). Maybe he’s right, and I should be there for him too. Be more supportive, he says.

I snuff out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe and go back inside. We sit and listen to an hour long lecture about living in sin, followed by a textbook work-up of HIV and how it’s like ten times more likely to be contracted through anal sex, or some shit. She all but accuses me to my face of being a dirty, disease ridden faggot that’s corrupted her son. But then it’s over and I can breathe a little.

For about fifteen minutes anyway, because it takes fifteen minutes to drive to Mack’s house, across town.

And then? Man, I _really_ freak the fuck out.

He lives in a trailer park on the outskirts of town. Nice park, a lot like the one where my grandma lived before she died. I like it here. People are nice, and they keep to themselves. So does Mack. He’s pretty chill. But I don’t want to get out of the car when we pull into the lot. So I stay behind the wheel of my Pontiac, absently playing with one of my gauges, trying not to act like I’m having a nervous breakdown.

Part of me thinks maybe I should get out of the car too, you know in case Mack flips out when Justin tells him he's gay, like maybe I might have to defend him (which I totally would) but I can't move. I'm frozen, hands glued to the steering wheel.

Justin sighs and gets out of the car.

He adjusts the sunglasses on his face, glances around, then knocks on the screen door of the single-wide.

He waits a while. Mack doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, he looks like he’s half asleep. Makes sense, considering it’s Sunday morning, it’s his day off, and he doesn’t work until Monday. He answers the door in jeans and nothing else, like he just threw them on, rubbing his eyes, then lets Justin in. “What’s goin’ on, little man?” he asks Justin when they’re inside, flopping down on the recliner. Justin flops down on the couch nearby.

He’s been calling Justin that ever since he can remember. Name still fits. Justin’s only like 5’6”.

“Not much,” Justin answers, running fingers through his hair. Then he takes off his glasses. “Uh, Mack, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Mack’s reaching for a cigarette as he speaks, and pauses before he lights it. He looks up. He knows by Justin’s tone that it’s something semi-serious. “Alright, shoot,” he says, and Justin takes a breath.

“I’m gay,” he says, and Mack stares for a minute. Then he lights his cigarette. Takes a puff.

“Alright,” he says. Then takes another puff.

I know, right?

“Alright? That’s all you have to say, is alright?” Justin asks, a little surprised, and relieved in the same instance. Mack shrugs, then tosses his lighter on the coffee table between them.

“What do you want, a gold star?” he asks. “You’re gay, good for you. So fuckin’ what. What do you want me to say? Fine, congratulations then. You’re not out getting some thirteen year old girl pregnant or somethin’.”

He says all this so nonchalantly, with a shrug of the shoulder, like it’s not really a surprise. Which maybe it kind of isn’t, considering everything about Justin tends to scream, “Gay as fuck.” Like, don’t take this the wrong way, but where we live? Guys wearing skinny jeans is super fucking gay. To top it off, he’s wearing a really dorky sweater, and I know it’s like some hipster shit, but, like, come on.

So either it’s no surprise, or Mack really doesn’t give a fuck, but he’s half asleep still, and puffs on his cigarette some more, trying to wake up. Justin gapes at him, in total disbelief.

“I–uh,” he stumbles to speak, “No I just–like–this is a relief to me,” he admits. “I didn’t think you would be okay with it, but like–you are, so,” He scratches his head in bewilderment, “So we’re cool then, right? Like, we’re good and everything?”

He asks like he still isn’t sure, and Mack rolls his eyes. “Look, you’re twenty-eight years old, Justin. You're a grown ass man. Do what you want. Nobody should care who you’re fuckin’. But I’m guessing it’s Lenny, right?”

“Uh–yeah–well,” Justin fidgets. “He didn’t want anybody to know.”

“Uh, yeah, well, it ain’t nobody’s goddamned business,” Mack says. Then he snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m gonna make some coffee. You want some coffee?”

“I’ll pass,” Justin tells him, but follows him into the kitchen. He sits down on a stool at the counter, warily, as Mack scoops coffee into the filter and pops it into the machine. “I can’t believe you’re cool with this,” he says. “Mom was like, definitely not. She went pretty hard on us both about the whole AIDs and HIV thing, and how homosexuality is a sin. It really upset Lenny.” (Lie, it upset Justin. He’s projecting. I wasn’t that surprised, honestly.)

Mack snorts. “Your born again mom seems to forget she met our Dad at a party and he watched her snort a line of cocaine in the bathroom right before they had a threesome with this chick she dated in high school.” Justin’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “Oh yeah,” Mack nods. “Dad told me everything. Just ask her about it some time.”

“She never told me about any of that stuff.”

“She should’ve. I love you, kid, but you’re mom's a lying, two-faced hypocritical cunt,” he declares, then starts the coffee pot. It gurgles as it brews. “You hungry?” he asks. “Tell Lenny to get his ass in here, and I’ll make you guys somethin’ to eat.”

“He won’t get out of the car,” Justin tells him. “He’s too scared to. More scared than I was. Especially after I told mom about us. I couldn’t get him to come in.”

Mack sighs. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, what is the matter with you two,” he grumbles, then heads for the front door.

I’m smoking when he comes out. Leaning against the driver’s side window, wishing I was anywhere but here. My stomach’s in knots. I know that once word gets around town that Justin and I are more than just roommates, shit’s going to hit the fan. Everybody I talk to is going to look at me the same way Justin’s mom did. Like I’m diseased. They’ll call me a fag. Or worse, they’ll jump me.

Now, I can handle myself in a fight, I’m no punk ass little bitch either, but damn. This is not what I want for my life. I just want to be normal. Not normal as in straight, I don’t mean it like that, but just… happy, I guess.

I just want to be like everybody else.

I don’t want to be treated differently because I’m gay.

My head snaps up when I see Mack strolling up. Barefoot, still half dressed, and he just nonchalantly gets in my car. Flops down on the passenger’s seat, and says nothing. I’m seriously wigging out when he does this, and I stare at him. My leg starts jumping all over the place again, and I’m tense as fuck. But I’m kind of more interested in the fact that this dude is just in my car like it’s no big deal. But it’s a really big deal.

I won’t lie, I crush hard on Mack. Which is crazy, I know. I mean…

Mack is old enough to be my father.

Well, not literally. More figuratively speaking, but still.

And not only that but he's my boyfriend's brother.

I mean, he’s supposed to be like family and shit. That’s not appropriate, right?

But he’s the kind of guy I _want_ to be with.

From top to bottom, he’s one hundred percent my type. And he’s fucking jacked. He really doesn’t look like he’s pushing forty. And seeing as he’s in my car, just right there next to me, and I have no idea why, it’s an excuse to stare at him. Like, the dude’s ripped. He’s got a beautiful piece of art snaking up his right arm, real professional looking shit, not done in somebody’s basement, and there’s a gold ring on his finger.

Looks like a wedding band, but it’s on his right index finger, and I’ve never asked about it.

He’s barefoot, and man, even his _feet_ are hot. I don’t even have a foot fetish or anything, but I’d lick the shit out of those feet.

I worship this guy. I want to _be_ him, and be _with_ him, at the same time. He’s just that chill.

“Justin told me about you two,” he says, breaking the silence, and I look away.

I don’t want hear this.

But what he says next kind of throws me for a loop.

“Look, I get it,” he says. “When people know personal things about you, it changes perspective, man. I get that. This ain’t like tellin' people you got a new job or some shit. This is serious. And once people know about it, that’s all they’re gonna see. People don’t care what you think, or what you want, and society fits you into this bullshit little box where you don’t want to be. Trust me, I know how you’re feeling, man.”

Everything he says makes total sense to me, because it’s exactly how I feel, which is crazy, but, “Look, I appreciate it, I do, but I kind of doubt that,” I tell him, flicking my cigarette out through the cracked window. I don’t want to look at him, and I’d rather pretend none of this is happening, but I can’t.

“No, I do,” he says. “Trust me man, I get where you’re comin’ from. And I don’t really give a fuck what you and Justin are doin’, man, so how about I just give you the standard, ‘You break my kid brother’s heart, I break your face,’ and we go inside. I’ll make you guys somethin’ to eat. Alright?”

That makes me snort a little. It’s kind of funny hearing Mack tell me he’ll break my face, but with the same exact tone of voice a dad uses to say, “Come on, champ, let’s go get some ice cream, whatdya say?” It’s fucking hilarious to me, but also intimidating, because I believe without a doubt Mack could totally kick my ass. I sigh a little and nod, then chance side-eyeing him as he gets out of the car, and so do I. This is so surreal.

It doesn’t even feel like it’s actually happening, and I kind of hope that it isn’t, that it’s all just some weird ass nightmare I’m having, but I know my luck’s not that great.

We crowd around the counter and have coffee while Mack fries some eggs and bacon for us. It’s pretty quiet between us. Other than the standard comments like, “Fried or scrambled?” or “You want toast?” there’s like zero conversation. And he doesn’t bring up anything to do with the fact that we’re gay at all. Like it never happened, and Justin never told him at all. It’s like any other time we’ve hung out at Mack’s on a weekend.

I don’t know what sort of huge change Justin was expecting, but everything’s exactly the same.

It’s kind of funny, because Justin just sits there and keeps opening his mouth like he’s going to say something but doesn’t and just squirms instead. Coming out to his brother was so anticlimactic that basically he hyped himself up for no reason, and can’t bring his energy back down. I think he’s even mildly disappointed that there was no drama, like none whatsoever, when he was expecting there to be some kind of argument. But there isn’t one.

So now it’s over, and there’s nothing for Justin to get so worked up about. Of course me, on the other hand, I’m freaking out.

It’s all good, and I was worried for nothing too, but it doesn’t change the fact that now Mack knows. Like, he knows what I’m doing with his brother, and it’s weird. The duality of my double life has now merged into a single, linear and congruent aspect, a colossal fucking nightmare happening in real life, and I’ve got box seat tickets to the show. I mean, the dude knows I’m gay now. What if he picks up on the fact that I like him? Can we say awkward as fuck?

So I just stare at my coffee while eggs and bacon cook on the stove, and avoid eye contact.

I’m kind of glad for once that my parents died when I was little, and it was my now deceased grandma that raised me, because that means I have no one to disappoint with my gayness, I guess. I’m not going through what Justin’s been going through lately, so I guess it could be worse. The longer we sit there at Mack’s the less I feel like I really have anything to worry about.

Like, if things turn out bad with this whole coming out thing, I could always leave town, I suppose.

But I would feel bad about just up and abandoning the handful of people in my life though, so it’s kind of a catch 22.

Anyway, there you have it. Like, I’m pretty sure this is the day that can be blamed for everything that happens after. Because if Mack never knew we were gay, lots of other shit probably wouldn’t happen. And it’s about to.

Like, it’s _definitely_ going to happen.

So, yeah. This is my story.

I’ll properly introduce myself now. My name’s Lenny Bordeaux, and I’m gay.

Pretty soon everyone’s going to know about it too.

Plus I’ve got a serious thing for my boyfriend’s older brother, and I’m so fucked right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	2. Normal...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I know it’s none of my business, but, like… Why stay with him?”_
> 
> _Should I tell her the truth? Because I don’t know right now, and I’m losing my mind. I really don’t want to talk shit about my boyfriend to one of his friends. But I like Lee, and I don’t want to lie to her. I’m so tired of lying to myself too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: ["Duality"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=B2lmOei7qfk&feature=share)

So, things go back to normal?

Sort of?

Justin goes grocery shopping Wednesday afternoon, comes back with a whole bunch of health food and ingredients to make his fruit smoothies, and _why_ my boyfriend’s on a diet when he only weighs like 120 soaking wet, I have no fucking clue. But he’s been reading articles online about clean, healthy living, and is obsessed with it right now. Not that I mind that much, but it’s weird. And he goes on and on about all this environmental shit too.

Like, where the fuck is this coming from?

But aside from that, life is pretty average for the both of us. Absolutely nothing has changed except now Justin doesn’t have to hide the fact that we’re in a relationship around his family. But, unfortunately, that also means that nothing has changed between me and Justin either. I don’t know why I assumed it would, but I was kind of hoping that if we came out together to his family, maybe it would improve our relationship, but it really hasn’t.

If anything, it’s been worse the last week. Justin bitches so much more than he used to. This last week he’s done nothing but get on my case about every single thing I say and do. Right now I’m on my laptop and he’s bitching, but I can’t hear him because my headphones are blasting Slipknot. So he takes them and rips them off my head, and they smack painfully against my ear. “Ow!” I yelp, grabbing my ear. “What the fuck!?”

“Stop ignoring me!” he snaps. I side-eye him confusedly.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” I say. “I couldn’t _hear_ you. What do you want, babe?”

“I want you to pay attention when I’m talking to you,” he says, sharply, like he’s my fucking mom or something and I hate it when he does that.

Wordlessly, I close the laptop and fold my arms.

The balls on this guy, am I right? And people peg _me_ as the abusive type. But, see, here’s basically why were still together:

I do _not_ handle confrontation very well.

Me plus confrontation equals bad things.

Like, I know I said I’m not a pussy and shit, and I know that I should stand up for myself, but I can’t do that with Justin. I only have one response when someone pisses me off, and my switch only flips one way. I snap. I get angry, and when someone pushes me far enough, physically or verbally, I push back. So I know that if I say something to Justin it will start a fight, and I’ll go off. I really don’t want to hurt Justin by accident, so I say nothing.

Trust me, I _get_ why people think I’m psycho.

I sit quietly and listen to Justin go on and on for about thirty minutes, and I’m only half interested in the discussion. Something about some girl named Brittney at work, being a total bitch. _Oh, what, like you?_ I think, but I don’t say.

It’s not until we’re going to bed that night that I get any kind of time to myself, and sit in the living room with my laptop and my headphones. I’m looking up different schools that offer online classes. Thinking about going back to school. I know I should’ve done it a lot sooner, like maybe before I graduated and shit, then maybe I wouldn’t be stuck working for minimum wage in this punk ass town, but reasons, you know?

I might _look_ like I’m stupid, and most older people in town see me as some kind of loser, but I can do calculus and graduated with a 4.0 GPA. So it’s not that. Like, I know I’m smart. Got so much flack from the graduating class about being the 'secret genius' at school when I was presented at the ceremony as that year's valedictorian (I had to give a stupid speech and everything). Right, so, I’m not stupid.

Weed may or may not have lowered that I.Q. since highschool, but I will neither confirm nor deny that possibility.

I’ve got other reasons for still hanging around town this many years later, flipping burgers. But I’m starting to rethink those reasons right now, and seriously considering changing my life around. Maybe. I don’t know yet. But I know if I go back to school I’ll have a better excuse to leave town than, “I’m gay, and ditching this hellhole rather than catch shit for the rest of my life by everyone in town.”

Right, so, I need money. Minimum wage is not going to get me where I want to go. Because where I want to go is far the fuck away.

So I’m scoping out colleges when Justin taps me on the shoulder. Remarkably, not slapping headphones off my head. He’s giving me the “come hither” look, so I know if I follow him into the bedroom I’m gonna get some. I’m not really in the mood, I’ll be honest here, and I’m so stressed out that my libido is pretty much nonexistent, but if we fuck, Justin will be happy. So I shut down my laptop and come to bed.

I follow him into the bedroom and watch him strip down and climb under the covers. So I follow suit and peel off my shirt, shrug out of my pants, and climb in.

I know I’m pistol-whipped. You ain’t gotta tell me this shit. But I know you’re thinking it. So think quietly, and just keep reading...

So, the sex is pretty normal too. Nothing really new in that department. Not that it’s bad, I mean, I get off, but it’s nothing to really get worked up about.

Justin always bottoms, which is kind of a disappointment, and he’s never made the offer to switch, so I don’t say anything. Like, this is what he wants, so it's not worth the headache of bringing up. He let’s me give him head, so I’m good, and it gets me up. It’s missionary style, we’re facing each other, because it’s what Justin wants, and he likes to make out during. It’s not bad, but... it’s never any different.

I know it’s wrong, but I picture Mack whenever Justin and I fuck.

Not always, sometimes it’s someone else, but it’s a guy _like_ Mack. Tall, muscular, with some kind of facial hair–basically the opposite of my boyfriend–banging the shit out of me from behind. Right now, tonight, it’s Mack, because I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.

He’s got his rough, calloused hands all over me (he's a carpenter, so I know his hands are rough without touching them) yanking on the back of my head, not too hard, but just hard enough to get me going, and he’s whispering dirty shit in my ear before he bites my neck, and fucks me so hard I swear I’m bleeding. Like, I’m crying and shit because it feels so good it hurts and I want him to stop but at the same time I don’t.

But even though he’s pounding my ass like a hammer, he’s also kind of sweet and saying things like, “I’m not hurting you, am I?” and “Do you like that?” and “You want me to slow down?”

Then I’m all like, “Fuck no, baby, fuck me as hard as you want.”

I fuck Justin like crazy as I’m imagining this shit, and I get off first, but I can still go, so I hold out until he gets off too (sometimes I blow him instead, whatever he wants) and then that’s it. We spoon until he falls asleep, which is always nice. The benefit of being in a relationship is 90% being able to touch another person. For that five minutes until he passes out, I don’t feel lonely. Because I don’t feel anything at all.

I’m numb all the way through, still riding my sex high, mentally drifting, not asleep, but not really coherent either. But then I snap out of it and I’m just... there. I’m still awake, and always restless as fuck this time of night, so I sneak back in the living room and power my laptop back on. I don’t listen to music, because I want to hear if Justin wakes up so I can act like I went to the bathroom.

But I scroll through Facebook, check out more schools, then watch some porn, sound muted. I got off, so I’m not that hard up, but I still like to have that mental gratification of seeing big, bulky tattooed men go at it hardcore with a skinny twink like me. I don’t really find anything interesting though. Not anything I haven’t seen way too many times.

I close my laptop.

Then I close my eyes.

I don’t know why I do this to myself.

I’m miserable. I’m still lonely. And I’m still scared.

Makes me feel like shit too because I know I’m acting like such a twat right now, and I know I should just man the fuck up.

I wish I had a mom to pat my shoulder or my head and be reassuring, or a dad to actually tell me to man the fuck up and smack the back of my head whenever I act like a twat. I wish my grandma was still alive so I could sit down on the couch with her, work my way up to telling her I’m gay, so that she can tell me, “You know, Lenny, I used to live across some of them thespians.” (“It’s ‘lesbians’, grandma,” I’d laugh) “Well, it’s the same thing, ain’t it?”

All my anger has dropped off, and I start crying. I miss my grandma so much. And the one person I have to talk to is the last person I want to talk to right now because he’s the reason I feel this way.

I don’t know what to do.

* * *

It’s agonizing going over to Mack’s house to chill, but we do that more often now than we used to.

Before, it was just an every once in a while kind of thing because they were never particularly close, but now that everything’s all out in the open, and Mack still treats us the exact same, Justin wants to hang out more. It’s better than visiting his mom, who now makes up excuses as to why she can’t have him over. But we both know the truth. She’s ashamed of her son. She sets a bad example for other Christians that genuinely respect people of all walks of life.

Though it turns out I worried for nothing over her. She’s not telling anyone we’re gay. She doesn’t want anyone knowing about it either.

But once more, I digress.

It’s strange going to Mack’s, because now that we’re out, Justin wants to _act_ like it. As in more public displays of affection around his brother. It’s subtle, but still disturbing, the way he sits closer to me on the couch, his hand on my leg, and if we go to the kitchen or pass each other in the hallway he’ll touch my arm more, and little things like that. It makes me uncomfortable. Like, I don’t need to constantly touch someone in order to validate my relationship with them.

If this were my grandma’s house, guy or girl, it wouldn’t matter, I would not be feeling somebody up in front of her. That’s just rude.

And it feels so fake. Justin doesn’t even do this at home. It feels like he’s touching me purely to make a statement, and not because he actually cares. I feel no connection here, no attachment, and sort of like I’m being claimed. Don’t get me wrong, I want to belong to someone, but this empty, pointless contact is just bullshit. He’s like one of those chicks that’s all over her boyfriend in public just to give people the idea they’re an item.

Uh, newsflash, girls: if your guy wants to be touched, he’ll fucking touch you, alright? Don’t do that whole “This is my man, bitch” type of bullshit. Just sit down and chill the fuck out.

Not that it’s _that_ bad, but I’m just not really comfortable with it.

I can tell Mack isn’t either. It’s subtle too, his reaction to Justin touching me while the three of us are chilling, talking, or watching TV. You can barely notice it, but whenever he glances our way, I see his jaw flex a little.

Not that I’m staring at him. In fact, I hardly make eye contact with him at all, because I don’t want him to think I'm checking him out. But I don’t know what else to do. I’m just kind of there, really, while Justin talks, which is normal, because I don’t ever talk as much as he does. I talk, and I occasionally have things to talk about, like if it’s a subject I’m familiar with, or interested in, but not like Justin.

Justin can talk for hours about nothing just to hear himself talk, man.

Presently, Justin takes forty-five minutes talking about something that has zero base value in conversation. I don’t know how he does it. I mean, how is he getting sufficient oxygen talking that damn much? It’s borderline miraculous. My leg has not stopped twitching this whole time. I have to keep my elbows on my knees to get it to stop bouncing so much. But even that’s not really helping, because you can still see it moving.

“Oh, we’ve got to go,” Justin finally says, glancing at his phone. “We’re supposed to be meeting Samantha.” I don’t know where he gets the “we” in this, because I don’t want to meet with Samantha. This is all on Justin’s whim, not mine. “And we’ve got to stop by the apartment first so you can change.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?” I ask, scrunching up my face.

“Uh, you look like a slob?” he says, and I hold my breath for the “Duh” that sounds like it’s coming with that tone of voice. I glance down at myself. I look pretty normal, I think. Well, average anyway. Godsmack T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, jeans and a pair of black Vans. Okay, yeah, my pants have holes in them and shit, but we’re just going to meet Samantha. It's not like we’re going to a funeral here.

I scowl when he plucks the hat off my head, ruffles my hair and says, “And I think maybe we should do something with your hair too because, ugh. I mean this is just–”

I snatch my hat back, shrinking away while I fix my hair and replace my hat, flipping it backwards.

I hate this. So much.

I feel like a little kid right now, and here’s Mack, five feet away, watching the exchange, and watching his brother treat me like a fucking Ken doll or some shit. But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t smirk at the fact that Justin has me whipped, nor is he irritated at the fact that his brother is acting like such a girl right now. He’s just here too, I guess. Like me, he’s not really active in the discussion, and probably wishes he were anywhere else.

This shit is unbelievably uncomfortable.

But we leave. As soon as I’m behind the wheel and we’ve pulled out of the driveway, I stretch my leg, and it finally stops moving for the most part. It eases off significantly at least. But I’m still irritated, and Justin knows it, because I’m not saying a word to him. I know that if I open my mouth, I’m going to say something I’ll regret. I hate this too. Hate this so fucking much about myself, but I don’t know how to fix it. Haven’t I changed enough for him already?

I focus on the road. I wish I didn’t have to mentally shut down like this just to keep from blowing up twenty-four seven, but whatever.

I turn on the radio, and it’s already tuned to a rock station, but Justin makes an “ugh” sound and changes it to pop radio.

The windows are rolled up and the volume’s down, so it’s not like pedestrians hear me blasting this gay ass sounding music, but I have to hear this shit. It fucking sucks, man, and if there’s a hell, this is it. He’s texting someone in the passenger’s seat, eyes on his phone the whole time, so he doesn’t see me grinding my teeth and gripping the wheel until my knuckles are white. He’s singing under his breath along with the song, so he doesn’t hear me either.

We stop by the apartment and I shower, pressing my forehead against the ceramic tile under the faucet. I just want to get away. I can’t stand this anymore. But where am I going to go? I have a few friends that aren’t Justin’s friends, but I can’t stay with any of them. Most of them are already crashing on other people’s couches. There’s a halfway house downtown, but they’re full. I know because I checked already.

There’s a church I can go to, but in order to stay you’re required to attend services every Sunday and Wednesday night. Conflicts with my work schedule. And I can’t miss anymore days. I know it’s wrong to want to do this, but sometimes I just want to snap and go off on Justin so maybe he’ll leave me. But then I’d be facing assault charges, on top of just being a real piece of shit. I don’t want to be that guy.

So I throw on a blank white T-shirt and brand new pants (that Justin ordered online for me, so they’re too tight for my taste) and Justin rummages through my flannel shirts hanging in the closet for whatever he thinks will look good, mentally shooting myself in the face as he holds them up to me before finally deciding. I button my shirt, push up the sleeves and wait for his approval. He stands there with his hand to his chin, appraises me, then slowly nods.

I guess I’m finally good enough now, because he rushes me out the door saying we’re late. But at least he doesn’t fuss over my hair again. Can’t, because I gelled it, so if he so much as touches it, it’s fucked.

I drive us across town, relinquishing my right hand from the wheel to hold his, mostly just to reassure him, and myself, that everything is fine. But it’s not. I feel like I’m trapped in an episode of the Twilight Zone, one where I’m sitting on the sidelines and watching someone else control my body, making me do things I don’t want to do, and I can do absolutely nothing to stop it because I’m trapped inside my own head.

We pull up in front of a two story house on a corner, Justin texts Sam, and we wait. I don’t know why Justin was bitching, because Samantha is more late than we are. I watch the clock and it takes her twenty minutes to finish getting ready before she finally hops in the back seat, slams my door way too hard, saying, “What up, bitch.” Now Sam? Sam I don’t feel bad going off on. She’s like the rudest female ever to exist. I hate her.

“Stop slamming my door, bitch,” I snap.

“Fuck you,” she fires back, flipping me the bird in the rear view mirror.

“Yeah, no, I think I’ll pass!” I say all cheerily and shit.

Bitch is not a strong enough word for Sam.

Immediately Sam and Justin start talking like I’m not even there, completely ignoring me, and I have to say I’m fairly content with that.

So, Sam is bi, just for your information. Came out a year ago. She's like super femme, wears way too much make-up, constantly flips her hair like it’s sexy (newsflash: it’s not) and is always popping her gum in her mouth.

Every other phrase is, “Like, oh my god!” in a really high pitched voice. To make matters worse, every time Justin and Sam hang out, Justin parrots her. Mocks her like a brainless little marionette on a string. His tone is even more feminine, and he even says the same phrases. Like, “Oh my god, me too!” and “I literally can’t even right now.” I lean against the driver’s side door, elbow on the armrest, because Justin let go of my hand, and I tune them out.

We drive back across town to pick up Sam’s girlfriend. Lee.

Okay, now Lee? Lee is cool as fuck. I really like Lee. Lee is feminine too, but not like Sam. She’s just… chill. Really chill. She likes things like Marvel, which is kind of cool, and she listens to Foo Fighters. She slides in next to Sam, behind me, brown hair pulled into a bun, wearing a Venom tee, skinny jeans, and high tops. She's got just a touch of weight, but she wears it well. Like, big ass, big tits, and I think she looks fine as fuck. If I was into girls, I would date a girl like Lee.

Every straight guy needs a girl like Lee in their life. I mean, this bitch is bangin'.

“What up guys,” she says when she gets in the car, and I give the standard, “What up.” But I’m genuinely happy to see her. Mostly because she spends more time telling Sam to shut the actual fuck up than actual conversation, which is a plus. “Hey Lenny, Justin said you guys finally came out to his family?” she says when we pull away.

I open my mouth to speak, but Justin answers for me.

“Oh my god yes!” he squeals. “Mom was kind of awkward? But Mack is totally cool with us. He’s been really supportive.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and I bristle a little. “He even talked to Lenny and helped him overcome his fear of coming out, and it was so sweet of him, right babe?” Right. Sure. All he did was tell me he understood where I was coming from and that he didn’t give a fuck, but whatever. “Like, I really feel like we’re ready to come out completely now, and having family to support us is really a blessing.”

“But like, you guys are _so_ lucky though,” says Sam. “Like, the hardest part is basically over, and Lenny's parents are like already _dead_ and shit, so–”

I brake check, the car screeches to a halt, Sam’s head hits the back of Justin’s seat, because the dumb bitch isn’t wearing a seat belt, Justin almost chokes on his and his eyes widen.

“Sorry.” No, I’m really not. “Thought I saw a bird or something.”

Lee’s in the back seat cracking up saying to Sam, “You okay, babe?” But _as_ she’s laughing at her. I love Lee.

But I’m so ready to drive this car right off a fucking cliff.

Fuck this.

But anyway, we drive two hours on the interstate to go to a restaurant after bickering about what to do, when Sam says, and I quote, “Like, oh my god, I'm like so fucking hungry right now.”

 _Like, oh my god, I like so fucking hate you right now!_ , I scream internally.

The restaurant is nice. A lot nicer than the rat infested dump I work at, but still not fancy enough to require changing my wardrobe. At least I don’t think. It’s a steakhouse or some shit and every dude in the place is wearing shorts, polo tees, and have their hats on in the restaurant, looking like a bunch of frat bros. Lee and I stick out like sore thumbs, but whatever. Justin slides in a booth, Sam plops down next to him to show him something on her phone.

But that leaves me to sit next to Lee, which is cool. “So, inside, or outside?” I ask and she shrugs.

“I’m cool with whatever,” she says. So I slide in first, just in case she needs to use the bathroom, so I don’t crowd her in, because I’m nice like that.

Justin and Sam are in their own little world, and my leg is bouncing like crazy. But at least now I can talk to Lee uninterrupted. She asks me if I’ve seen the latest Avengers movie and I nod, so we get to talking about that for a while. Lee’s pretty smart. She likes breaking down the characters and their interactions on a deeper level instead of just saying, “Oh my god, Scarlet Johansson is _so_ hot.” She studies art and graphic design to be a comic illustrator.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks quietly, after the food has arrived, but I haven’t really touched it. I have no appetite and the two-for-one special Justin orders for the both of us has my stomach twisting into knots. I’m not allergic to it, and I’ve had it before, but I’m just not in the mood for it. I shrug a little at Lee's question, but she looks genuinely concerned for me right now, and that makes me feel worse.

It’s nice to feel like somebody cares for a change, but I feel like I don’t deserve it. I don’t know why, but... I just do, for some reason. Maybe it's all the anger I’ve been shoving aside all week. But I've got a guilty conscience right now. Still, I’m tired. I’m reaching my breaking point. I’m about ready to snap. And I really need nicotine right now, more than I need to share my feelings, or whatever.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but could you let me out?” I ask Lee. “I’m gonna go smoke.”

“Yeah, sure,” she says and scoots out. “I think I’ll join you actually. Need some air.”

I nod and we walk out of the restaurant.

It’s nice outside. And quiet too. I light up and we watch the cars go by on the interstate in the distance.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Lee asks after a while.

“You just did,” I smirk, and she elbows me in the side playfully.

“No, I mean, like... why are you with Justin?” she asks, and I blink a few times, then puff on my cigarette. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like Justin? But… you guys just don’t seem right for each other. Like, at all. It’s just, well, you’re both so different and… I don’t know. I know it’s none of my business, but, like… Why stay with him?”

Should I tell her the truth? Because I don’t know right now, and I’m losing my mind. I really don’t want to talk shit about my boyfriend to one of his friends. But I like Lee, and I don’t want to lie to her. I’m so tired of lying to myself too.

Yeah, no, I can’t do it. That just seems like a low blow. So I shrug and say, “You and Sam are way different people too.”

She snorts. “Dude, we’re just fucking though. Like, you and Justin are living together. That’s pretty serious. I mean, do you love him?”

I don’t know.

At that moment, Sam and Justin come outside, laughing on their way through the door and we both look back at them. Lee clamps her mouth shut and brushes a hair away from her face, and I take it as a queue to shut the fuck up because Lee obviously doesn’t want them knowing what we just talked about, and neither do I. So without another word we pile in the car and drive home. We drop Sam and Lee off at Sam’s house, then head back to the apartment.

Things are quiet between us with them gone. Just like always. Justin and I don’t say two words to each other, and Justin’s back to his normal self again.

Normal. What even _is_ normal anymore? Because I don’t think this is how it’s supposed to be.

But this is how it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	3. Relativity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So why’ve you been so jumpy around me lately?”_
> 
> _I sigh and flick my cigarette into the yard. Yeah, no, I don’t want to tell him that. That is a whole other thing I do not want to get into. But I know if I don’t tell Mack something, he’ll continue to think I’ve got a problem with him._
> 
> _I’ll see you real soon, grandma, because I’m gonna be a dead man in about five seconds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, did that punk ass little bitch named Lenny just make the chapter song ["Come As You Are" by Nirvana](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=vabnZ9-ex7o&feature=share) instead of another Slipknot song?
> 
> Why yes. Yes he did.

Yeah, so, I get invited to a party?

The kind of party Justin would _not_ want to go to.

I’m talking kegs on tap, whiskey out the bottle, beer pong slosh shit where you wake up the next morning with FAG written on your forehead if you pass out with your shoes on. That kind of party. Hippies smoking weed on the couch, yuppies snorting coke in the bathroom, and bitches dancing on the table while some dude’s in the corner, hanging upside down with a beer bong. Loud ass music playing over the stereo, loud ass frat bros chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Like, chicks peeling their clothes off and dry humping their boyfriends on the couch while Kurt Cobain sings Lithium.

That kind of party.

Definitely not Justin’s kind of party.

But it is so _my_ kind of party. And Justin’s got the car because he’s at work, so I know I don’t have to pick him up, which means I’m off the hook and free to get shit fucking wasted tonight. I call Smoke and give him the ok, and he swoops by in his Cavalier.

Smoke is the closest thing I’ve ever had to an old man. He’s in his sixties, totally missed the tail end of the seventies, and is so burnt the fuck out he makes Cheech and Chong sound like they’ve got PhDs. And he’s awesome. He knew my dad, so he kind of looked after me over the years, like a surrogate dad. He always let me get shit wasted at his house on the weekends, and got me high, because at least if I was with him, I wasn’t out getting in “real trouble”, he said.

He’s obviously not the most _responsible_ father figure to have, but he’s great. And he’s like family, and it’s nobody’s fucking business, as far as I’m concerned. This guy has saved me from sneaking into bars when I was under 21, landing probation, losing my license on a DUI, or getting arrested for possession because weed is illegal here, and he hands out condoms to everyone like they’re candy. So he’s not _that_ irresponsible.

He rolls up, I slide in the passenger’s seat, and I’m face to face with a tall, lanky man with long hair and a beard, wearing an Iron Maiden shirt and a Rastafarian necklace around his neck.

“My man, little Lenny!” he says as we half-hug.

“What’s up,” I chuckle.

“Nothin’ much, man,” he drawls as we speed off down the road. “So you ready to party tonight, or what?”

“Oh yeah,” I tell him. I’m _so_ ready to party. I’ve _needed_ this.

And nobody at Smoke’s house knows about me. Other than mutual friends like Lee (I’m not including Sam in this. Fuck Sam.) Justin and I don’t run in the same circles. He’s told some of _his_ friends we’re together, but none of _mine_ know about it yet. And Justin wouldn’t be caught dead at Smoke’s place. When I text him and told him I’d be there, I could hear the “ugh” sound he made clear across town. He hates my friends.

And he’s going to Sam’s after work, so I won’t see nor hear from his ass ‘til morning. So when I go to Smoke’s? I get to be me. I don’t have to conform. And who I fuck is my business, not theirs.

Smoke lives outside town in the middle of dirt fucking nowhere-ville. Nice little house, with a back deck surrounding an above-ground swimming pool he never uses and always keeps covered. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been cleaned since 1979 or some shit. He hangs Christmas lights up and just leaves them there, all year around, and has a flag with Bob Marley’s face on it hanging in the front window. It’s my goddamn dream house is what it is.

We walk inside and kick our shoes off. “So, Andy’s still on his way with the keg, but there’s a six pack in the fridge, man, help yourself.”

“Cool, thanks man,” I tell Smoke and head down the hall to the kitchen while Smoke slinks off to the living room.

I pay zero attention to my surroundings.

I have no idea someone’s already here, and I assume it’s just the two of us.

I go back to the kitchen, which is your bare basic bachelor pad set-up. Meaning there’s a stove, a fridge, and that’s about it. Oh, and a huge trash can full of empty beer bottles and take-out boxes. I peer in the fridge and loot a bottle of Heineken, popping the cap off on the kitchen counter and taking a swig. I hear talking in the living room. Which is weird, because I know Smoke’s pretty out there, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard him talk to himself.

I think he’s finally lost it at first, until I hear someone respond.

I walk back to the living room.

I shit you not, _Mack_ is here.

Like, holy shit, my boyfriend’s _brother_ is here.

I’m _so_ fucked right now.

He’s there, on the chair next to Smoke’s recliner, puffing on a cigarette while Smoke packs his bong. I swear, the look on his face at first when he sees me walk in is fucking priceless. He’s somewhere between shock and laughter for a split second before he takes another drag and leans his head curiously to the side, while I’m over here fucking _dying_. No joke, I feel like my heart’s about to explode for a second.

But I play it cool (as much as physically possible anyway, considering my leg twitch is a dead giveaway) but he says nothing when I sit down. He’s still in his work clothes, paint and varnish staining his jeans and his work boots, kicked off to the side, and he’s in socks (smart man). His flannel jacket is hanging over the back of the chair, which means all he’s got on is a beater and I’m fucking sweating getting an eye full of that muscle tone.

Like, damn, I could look at that for _hours_.

“Here he is, man,” Smoke says to him proudly, pointing at me. “Mack, Lenny. Lenny, meet Mack.”

“ _This_ is your kid?” Mack asks him, not tearing his eyes off me. Yeah, I’m fucked. “This kid right here?”

Damn. Smoke told him about me? Well, what did he say? Besides obviously that I’m kind of like his adopted son. Wait, scratch that, I don’t want to know.

“Yeah man,” I nod a little. Absently I wonder how it is that I’ve never seen Mack at Smoke’s house before, how I never knew they were friends, but it’s entirely possible we always just missed each other. We work different hours, and half the time Smoke forgets what _year_ it is, so it’s entirely plausible that it just slipped his mind to ever mention it. Smoke hits the bong, then passes to the left, handing it to me.

I thank my lucky stars, because smoking weed is like the _only_ thing that stops my leg from bouncing like crazy. But man my heart is racing because Mack is staring at me.

“Yeah, Mack’s like my _other_ kid, man,” Smoke drawls. “Known him since he was in diapers. Me and his old man used to party together. Guess that kinda makes you brothers and shit. It’s pretty cool, right?”

I snort, saying, “That’s one ugly ass brother,” to Smoke, who chuckles. Mack just smiles, rubbing his chin.

He’s got this really weird smile on his face. Not a friendly smile, but more of an “I know something you don’t know” kind of smile, or, quite possibly, an “I’m going to murder you” smile. I'm wondering if maybe now that Justin's not around, he's not going to be so cool with me like before. Whatever the reason behind that smile, it's freaking me the fuck out.

He watches me pull a hit off the bong, saying, “Man, I know this kid,” to Smoke.

“No shit?” Smoke says. Mack nods.

“Yeah. He’s friends with my kid brother.” I choke a little on the smoke and hand him the bong.

He leans forward, takes it, then sits back a little in his seat, and I shit you not, he never breaks eye contact with me the entire fucking time he takes a hit. I sip on my beer. I don’t break eye contact either, and I have no idea what my face looks like, but it’s like he knows how much this is getting to me right now. But I feel like if I look away, he wins. I don’t know why, but it feels like a challenge.

At least I haven’t been introduced as his brother’s _boyfriend_. Just friend. So there’s that at least.

“Whoa,” Smoke commends, like it’s super cool that we know each other. “Small world.”

“Small town,” I remark.

“Yeah, man, really small, huh?” Smoke agrees.

“Man, this town is too fucking small,” I tell Smoke.

“But nice and quiet,” Mack says, passing Smoke the bong, who smiles and nods.

Okay, now I’m starting to move past freaked out and on to being slightly irritated. He looks so smug right now. And since I’ve now had a half a beer and a big ass bong hit, I’m feeling a little cocky.

“Smoke, you never told me you hung out with Eddie Macintosh, man,” I name-drop, not breaking that eye contact still. “Where’d you find him? At the bottom of a trash can?”

“No, no,” Mack shakes his head, grinning wider. “That’s where he found _you_ , remember? He found _me_ in a back alley behind a bar, fuckin’ dumpster diving an’ shit. But, see, I was a rescue. You?” He snorts. “He didn’t even want your ass, man. You were definitely an accident.”

I know it’s all bullshit, just busting my balls, so I say, “Yeah, but I was like, _abandoned_ and shit, so my back story is way more tragic than yours.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he tells me, looking me over. “You do look pretty fuckin’ tragic, man.”

“Bro, have you looked in the mirror lately?” I ask. “That’s tragic.”

“One big happy family,” Smoke quips, like right on the money, grinning like an idiot.

I break first, looking down at the table, chuckling a little, and Mack is soon to follow. Smoke’s snickering a little into the bong before he takes a hit.

Okay, so he’s not gonna kill me. He’s just fucking with me. I think?

But he looks so hot right now. I mean, he’s intimidating, but in a way that is definitely turning me on as much as it’s freaking me the fuck out. So I’m having to match his stance, leaning forward and resting my arms on my knees, because there’s no way I’m leaning back and showing even the slightest hint of a hard-on in my jeans. He would definitely kill me then, I think. But damn. I’m at Smoke’s house getting high with my boyfriend’s big brother.

Like, I always knew Mack was cool and shit, but I never realized he was _this_ chill. And he is. He’s chill as fuck. We shoot the breeze for a little while until Andy and ten other people show up with not one, but two kegs. Some faces I know, some I don’t know that well, some I’ve never seen in my life. Out-of-towners, I guess. But as the night progresses, more and more people show up and I don’t think even Smoke knows all these people.

But Smoke never cares who shows up to his and Andy’s parties. As long as people don’t take shit. But he never really has anything worth stealing. And what he does have, like his beer and his weed, he’s generous with. So it’s definitely a party tonight. I’m one of maybe two or three other people that look arguably under age, and it’s mostly an older crowd, but it always is at Smoke’s house. Most of the younger ones may be in college, but they’re all over twenty-one.

I never really feel all that young at these parties though, because most of these guys act younger than me. Every other word is “bro” and I know I don’t _sound_ like I have a good vocabulary, but 4.0 GPA, remember? And I passed English Lit with flying colors. But I don’t know about some of these people. So I’m there, kicking back on the couch with a beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, and Mack is still here. Right across from me.

Talking to Smoke, but…

Staring at _me_.

And man is this shit fucking awkward.

Enter Sandman by Metallica is on the stereo, and Mack is stabbing me repeatedly with a serrated blade using only his eyes.

I need another beer, so I slip off the couch and into the kitchen. Nobody’s there, everybody’s either in the living room, the dining room (hovering around the kegs), or out on the front porch. I’m not really paying attention to my surroundings, and make a beeline for the fridge to check if there’s any Heineken left before I’m forced to swallow whatever cheap ass beer on tap Andy bought. Luckily, there’s one left, and I’ll stave off a little while longer.

I reach into the fridge, grab the beer and the now empty box, close the fridge, turn around and–“Jesus!” I exclaim when I see Mack standing like right there. “Fucking shit,” I gasp, clutching my chest. The guy’s a fucking ninja.

“Whoa, my bad, man,” he laughs a little, holding up both hands. I take a minute to catch my breath, and then it’s just awkward.

“Uh, beer?” I offer, holding up the bottle. He shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says. Then he jerks his head toward the back door beside us. “Can we talk?” He asks, and points to the door. My hands are sweating, but to the best of my ability I nod and follow him outside.

He leans against the railing beside me as I pop the bottle cap using the banister, then take a drink. Mack lights up a cigarette. I pat down my pockets and realize I left mine inside, so he hands the one he just lit out to me. I take it, and nod in thanks, half making the connection that my lips are about to touch something that also touched his, like… _damn_. He lights up another. He takes a drag, then scratches his chin.

“Sorry for holdin' out on you all this time, man, I didn’t know you get high,” he says.

“Nah, it’s all good,” I assure him. “I didn’t know you did either. Like, I didn’t even know you knew Smoke too.”

“Yeah, I’m like… the other adopted kid,” he says. “Shit, we used to hang out a lot more, but I’ve been all tied up at work, ya know?”

I nod my head, because I relate, saying, “Yeah, I’m with you there, man.”

It’s quiet outside. There’s music and laughter at the front of the house, but out here it’s crickets and cicadas, moths flying into Smoke’s bug zapper hanging up, making it sizzle. The air conditioner in the window of the back room beside us kicks on, and Mack takes another drag off his cigarette, flicking the ashes over the railing. I do the same. I still can’t look at him. I’m not hyper as fuck anymore, kind of spacing, but I know if I look up at him I’m fucked.

He may have been murdering me in his head all night, but I’ve been fucking him five ways to Sunday in mine.

If I make eye contact with him he’ll see it in my face, I just know he will, and I get this vibe that he doesn’t like me as much as he did before he knew I’m gay.

“Man, why are you acting like you’re scared of me?” he asks, not laughing, but slightly amused by it. “You’re all jumpy an' shit. What’s up with that?”

I huff, then flick the ashes off my–Mack’s–cigarette and shrug. “Uhm, how about the fact that I’m living with your brother and you caught me out here getting drunk and high as fuck?”

“Why would I care?” he then asks, furrowing his brow more deeply in confusion.

I'm starting to wonder that myself, really. “I don’t know, maybe because you might think I’m a bad influence on Justin or something and you’ll try to fuck me up or... something. I mean, you’re cool, man, and I don’t want to piss you off or nothin'.”

He snorts. “Do you get him high?”

“What? No. No, man, like… he eats Kashi and fucking chugs pineapple smoothies and shit. He’s on this whole, ‘My body’s a temple’ type shit right now. Like, he doesn’t even drink caffeine.” Mack wrinkles his nose a little. I laugh, saying, “I’m not positive you're related, man. I mean, he’s nothing like you at all. Might need a DNA test. I think your dad got screwed over big time, man.”

He shrugs. “Eh, Dad's dead anyhow. Not like he gives a damn.” He takes another puff. “He’s just too much like his mom, man,” he says. “When Dad met her she was wild. Crazy wild. They get divorced, she remarries, and suddenly she’s like a Stepford wife or some shit. I’m tellin’ ya, all that shit comes from the Evans gene pool. They’re all nuts.”

“I believe it,” I tell him, arching a brow.

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with Mack right now.

“So what’s got you all worked up lately?” he asks.

I shrug a little, then puff on my cigarette.

Yeah, maybe I’ve had the wrong impression of Mack this whole night, but I don’t know. I want to be wrong. And I don’t have anyone else to talk to, I’m buzzed, and I need to get shit off my chest.

“I’m freaking the fuck out, man,” I admit, turning away from Mack to lean over the railing. “I mean this is just fucking weird. I never wanted you to know this shit about me, never wanted _anyone_ to know this shit about me, and Justin just outs me anyway. I don’t even have a fucking choice. And I’m fucking pissed. But, like, I want him to be happy. And I don’t know what to say to him, man. And now he’s talking about telling _everybody_.

He talks like it’s a decision we made together, but it’s all him. And I’m man enough to admit this shit scares me. I mean, do you really think I’m going to be welcome anywhere once people know? This is fucking bullshit. It’s my goddamn life,” I jerk a thumb at my chest, “And if I want stay in the fucking closet then I should be able to just _stay_ in the fucking closet and mind my own fucking business, because it ain’t nobody else’s mother _fucking_ business, goddammit.”

I won’t lie, I’m a little winded after releasing all that, and I know it’s not even the half of it, like, there’s so much more, but I’m calm enough to just let it go at that. And Mack is cool about it, surprisingly.

“It's all good, man, I get it,” he says. “But I think you over-analyze shit,” he chuckles. “It’s the twenty-first century, man, everybody’s queer these days.” Okay, yeah, that actually gets me to laugh a little. “He shouldn’t have done that to you, but... I don’t think anybody’s gonna care man, I think you’re just being paranoid. What do you got to be so scared of, if people know this shit about you? Fuck ‘em, let ‘em think what they want. You said it yourself, it’s your life.”

I shrug. “I just don’t want anything to change,” I admit. “My life is just fine the way it is.” Alright, now _that’s_ a bit of a lie. I know it isn’t. But to make a point, I’m saying it is. “And anybody that don’t like it can go fuck themselves. But it’s the fucking _principal_ of the shit, man. You don’t just out somebody like that, if you ask me. That’s just bullshit.”

“Well, shit,” Mack quips, then takes another drag off his cigarette. “Now, don’t hold back, tell me how you _really_ feel,” he smarts, and I snort. “No, seriously, I get it man. That's some pretty serious shit. Kind of makes me wish I’d said somethin’ to him.”

“Eh, too late now,” I shrug. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I get that Justin doesn’t want to live a lie, wants to be himself, all that shit, and like more power to him or whatever, but damn man, let me do shit when I’m ready. If I’m ready. Or fuckin’ leave me alone with that shit.” I take another hit off my cigarette and sigh. “I don’t know, I might’ve done it to myself, I mean, I–I should’ve said somethin’ to him. But… I couldn’t. I never know what to say that won’t piss him off.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Mack tells me. “Like I said that’s his mom’s influence, man… But really, what’s all that got to do with me? I don’t give a fuck what you do. So why’ve you been so jumpy an’ shit around me lately?”

I sigh and flick my cigarette into the yard. Yeah, no, I don’t want to tell him that. That is a whole other thing I do _not_ want to get into. But I know if I don’t tell Mack something, he’ll continue to think I’ve got a problem with him.

I’ll see you real soon, grandma, because I’m gonna be a dead man in about five seconds.

“It’s not like I have a problem with you, it’s just–” I feel my face getting hotter, and not because of the drinking, as I stumble over how to say it. “Uhm,” I scratch my head, “I–uh–I just think you’re fuckin’ hot, man,” I say, and my heart’s racing a mile a minute in my chest. Mack says absolutely nothing, and I feel even worse. All I hear from him is the sound of flipping his cigarette off the back porch, and a sigh. “Like, just take it as a compliment, and forget I said anything. I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna hit on–”

The word “you” never makes it out because Mack grabs my head and _kisses_ the ever loving shit out of me!

He fucking KISSES ME!

Never mind, grandma! False alarm!

A whole lot of shit is starting to make sense now, huh? Like, here I am, in bodily shock as he shoves his tongue down my throat, which DM's my dick, saying, “Wake the _fuck_ up!” And I’m getting stiff, then next thing I know I’m being shoved into the banister, and he’s grinding up on me hard. Like, this guy is not kissing me like a guy that's just “curious”. No. Fuck no. This motherfucker makes out with me like he _knows_ he’s attracted to this.

Like he knows exactly what he wants, and in about five seconds he’s going to _take_ that shit, and it’s hot as fuck. And I don’t even have the mental capacity to fully process this because my dick just took the driver's seat.

And so did his. Like, I can feel how hard he is in his jeans.

And it all clicks in to place.

He’s _gay_.

This whole time I’ve had it all backwards.

This punk ass motherfucker is fucking GAY?!!!

But damn, my hands are all over those abs, reaching under his shirt, and his hand is on the back of my head fucking yanking on my hair, and I’m too deliriously turned on to stop to question this.

Seriously, I fucking _fantasize_ about this guy. Now is not the time to be waking myself up from this wet dream come to life. I _want_ this. I want this so bad right now I can _literally_ taste it, and I _need_ this. I mean, the dude is manhandling me like a motherfucker and I’m so down with letting him make me his bitch tonight. I mean he’s like squeezing my ass, pulling my hair, borderline dry humping me and searching for Atlantis off the tonsil turnpike and shit.

I’m…

Okay, yeah, there are truly no words for this.

What are the odds he would fucking kiss me, right?

When I read about Einstein’s theory of relativity, one of the things I learned was basically that if you move fast enough through space, the observations that you make about space and time differ somewhat from the observations that other people make, who are moving at different speeds. I feel like this correlates with my current predicament. Like, right now, my mind is not working on piecing this shit together, but…

This whole night, Mack and I have been moving at two different speeds.

I just finally got _brought up_ to that speed.

This guy’s attracted to me. And my mind is fucking blown. Loud laughter from the kitchen snaps us out of it though. It’s not like anyone sees us, but the sudden noise is enough to jolt the both of us back into reality, and remind us that at any second, someone could step out here and see this. He pulls away, hovering over my mouth and I’m gasping for air like it’s a treasure. So is he. This is unbelievable.

Just un– _fucking_ –believable!

“Come on, let’s go inside,” he says.

 _Fuck_.

My heart is racing as I follow him back to the kitchen. So is my mind.

Because I just realized something.

I just realized this guy has _not_ been murdering me with his eyes all night.

I had it all backwards.

He’s been mentally _fucking_ me, hardcore, like genuine hate sex, maybe even prison rape level shit, for hours now, (Oh, god no. Like days maybe. Weeks? Holy shit, maybe even years!) like all night long, and with the way he’s looking at me right now?

Oh yeah. I’m so getting fucked tonight.

And I’m telling you now, man, if this is wrong, I don’t want that shit to be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	4. Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“How much did you have to drink, man?” I ask._
> 
> _“None, why?”_
> 
> _“Because we’re gonna keep getting interrupted, and if you want to fuck this ass like you own it, we need to go back to your place, and I can’t drive.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Killpop"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=sXrC2bODxZI&feature=share)
> 
> "What the fuck, Lenny, _why_ is the chapter song Killpop?"
> 
> Because I fucking love that song, that's why. Class dismissed.

Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I’ll be honest here.

I don’t give a fuck what you think.

I’m not telling you this shit because I want your opinion or anything.

I’m telling you because I know you want to hear about this guy fucking the shit out of me because you think it’s hot.

Don’t even lie, you do.

That’s the whole point of writing this, right? (Partially, at least) And _your_ sole interest in reading it.

There’s absolutely nothing else that concerns you right now, except hearing about how Mack shoves his dick in my mouth and gags me on that shit.

But, as for the consequences of such, like, I don’t care. I really don’t.

I know it’s wrong, and I know I shouldn’t do this, but I don’t feel guilty at all about it.

Justin and I have been done for a while now. You know it, I know it, and now I’m just acknowledging it. Whether I like it or not, Justin is moving on to the next chapter in his life, with or without me, and I’m starting to see that I don’t really fit in his life story anymore. I’m the character getting killed off pretty soon, one way or another, and let’s face it, I _need_ to die. As Justin cracks open his new book, I need to close the chapter in this one, and move on.

Like, I’m not saying it will be with Mack, because man I don’t know. But I do know that at this moment in time, Mack is that stepping stone. I know I haven’t broken things off officially yet or anything, but I’m done. I know I’m cheating, Mack knows I’m cheating, but… I get this feeling he cares about as much as I do right now. It’s like he knows how much I need this. How badly I want this. And he’s down with it too.

I know we’re horrible and shit, but perfection is just an illusion anyway.

I’ve been oppressed for too fucking long, man.

This is how I choose to rebel.

This is about what I want for a change.

And tonight, it’s Mack.

* * *

So, we slip into the kitchen like nothing happened, and I’m tossing my beer in the garbage can, when Mack nods his head toward the hallway. I follow, and we slip past a group of people. They’re not paying attention to us, like they don’t even give a fuck, which is good. Mack strolls down the hallway and stops at the bathroom, yanking me inside and locking the door behind us. As soon as we’re inside, his mouth is on mine and we pick right back up where we left off.

He shoves me against the door, his hands are all over me, and they _are_ rough. Like, he’s not gentle with this shit at all.

And he’s driving me nuts.

I’m like a dog right now, man, wanting to hump his leg and shit.

I’m fucking _ecstatic_.

I start unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants so I can get my hands around his shaft and start jerking him, hearing him groan appreciatively and thrust into my hand. And he’s big. Like, this guy belongs in a porno flick. And tonight? He’s all mine, baby, all mine. I will metaphorically tattoo my name in big bold letters on this guy’s dick by the end of the night. “Property of Lenny _Fucking_ Bordeaux, Bitch.”

I’m about five seconds away from dropping to my knees and deep throating this dick, when he reaches behind him, slaps the lid down on the toilet and pulls me into his lap as he collapses on it. So now I’m straddling him, and he’s going for my belt, hastily unbuckling that shit and damn near rips the button on my jeans trying to get my fly down. I think at first he’s going for my dick, but no, even better.

He loosens my pants so that he can reach around and squeeze my ass, both cheeks, with both hands, hard, then slides a finger between them repetitively. And I moan in his mouth at that, not for one second giving him any room to doubt that I want that shit. I start backing up into his hand and he squeezes my ass hard enough to hurt. Fuck, it feels so good. Like, I need this guy to bend me over the bathroom sink immediately.

I’m so sick of being a top. So fucking sick.

And the only thing I want to be on top of right now is Mack's big fucking dick.

Someone starts pounding on the bathroom door, but Mack ignores them. So I keep jerking him off but they bang on the door again, harder and louder. “Hurry the fuck up in there!” I hear Andy shout. “I gotta take a piss!”

Mack growls and tears his mouth from mine, saying, “Fuck off, man! Go outside and find a fuckin’ tree or somethin’!”

“Hey, fuck you, Mack!” Andy fires back, punching the door before proceeding to fuck off, and leave us alone. And then Mack's on me again, shoving his tongue back down my throat before yanking my head back and sucking my neck. Then he bites down, in just the right spot and I can’t help it, I fucking whimper, man. I want to get fucked so bad right now, so I take my hand off his dick and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his head back.

“How much did you have to drink, man?” I ask.

“None, why?”

“Because we’re gonna keep getting interrupted, and if you want to fuck this ass like you _own_ it, we need to go back to your place, and I can’t drive.”

“Alright,” he says, and sets me on my feet.

Oh and he does, too. I can see it now. Now that I know what that look means, I know how badly he wants to tap it.

I back up against the door and right myself, while Mack does the same, but he’s still fucking me with his eyes and it’s not helping to make my hard-on go away. But I wear boxer _briefs_ , not boxers, so with some adjusting it stays right up against me and my clothes are baggy enough to conceal that shit. Apparently Mack’s got the same idea about shit, so we get situated, and then just kind of stand there for a second, both of us trying to slow our breathing.

Now is the time when I should consider questioning this, but fuck all that nonsense. He slips out of the bathroom first, and a few minutes later, when the coast is clear, I slip out next. I head to the living room to retrieve my cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table, and I find Mack there, checking his phone. He slips it into his pocket, shrugs on his jacket, then says to Smoke, “Hey man, me and Lenny are gonna duck out for a while. We'll be back later, alright?”

From the recliner, looking most of the way lit, Smoke just smiles and says, “Alright, man, I’ll see you kids later.”

“Yo Twitch,” Andy calls from the couch.

I see Mack blink a few times in confusion before turning at the name. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Like, ain’t that fucked up this guy makes fun of me like that? Like, making fun of my twitch and shit? I mean, that’s kind of offensive, but don’t freak out–around this crowd it’s like a term of endearment. And I like Andy. We went to school together too. He’s an asshole, but he’s pretty funny if you get him drunk enough. Not to mention he bought the beer.

Unlike me, Andy actually made it to college, but I guess part of him never _left_ college, because here he is back home, still partying like it’s a frat house this many years later.

I turn and come face to face with a blonde twenty-eight year old wearing Tapout apparel, rolling a blunt. Andy runs the flame of his lighter across the wrap.

“What?” I question.

“Where ya goin', bro?” he asks.

“The fuck away from you, shady ass motherfucker,” I chuckle.

“Fuck you,” he drawls with a smile. He's a punk, but I get a kick out of fucking with this guy.

“Man, your punk ass would probably like that shit,” I tell him, but he just waves me off, gives me this rolling eye look like he’s saying, “Get real.”

“Get the fuck outta here with that shit,” he tells me, waving me off and I chuckle. “Stick around, man, we’re about to toke up.” He holds up the blunt. I’ll pass.

“I’m good. Catch me next time. Later man,” I say and we dip.

“Later, bro.”

Smoke calls from the chair, “You kids be good!”

“Always, man,” Mack calls out with a smile as we’re slipping our shoes back on. I’ve got my hands in my pockets, following him to his truck, and it's just… crazy. I can’t believe this is happening, but suddenly things are starting to shift into focus in my head.

How the _fuck_ did I not know Mack likes men?!

* * *

I’ve got time to think in the truck. Well, a half an hour, at least. It would be an hour, but Mack knows the back roads between Smoke's house and the trailer park. I’ve got plenty of time to change my mind though, if I want to back out before I’m in too deep. But I’m not. It’s the farthest thought from my mind. I’m too busy thinking about other things, like all his micro expressions, things like Mack getting irritated whenever Justin touches me.

What I had misinterpreted as disgust might’ve actually been envy. Like, the dude’s been low-key jealous of his brother. Either that or he doesn’t approve of how Justin treats me. How that smug grin he's had all night was not an “I’m going to kill you” face, but was maybe actually a “Justin's not standing between us now” type of look. He’s just been waiting for an opening and tonight provided it.

I mean, like, the second I admitted I’m attracted to him, that was all the permission he needed. But I’m in the passenger’s seat trying to figure out how I didn’t pick up on any of this! I’m now convinced I have zero radar for this shit. It must be broken or something. Because Mack has never given off any signals. Like, not even after we told him we're gay. Was he just waiting for me to say I’m not happy with his brother or something?

Oh and how about the fact that he said he understood where I was coming from? Now I get why. And I’m starting to believe it.

He really does get it. There are some of us out there that just don’t want people knowing that shit about us. We all have our reasons, and me, well, you know my reasons why. I mean, it might’ve been easier had he just come out and said he liked other dudes, would’ve saved the trouble of embarrassing the fuck out of me, and I wouldn’t have told on him, but for some reason he just didn’t tell me. Now that, I don’t get. I could theorize all night on that shit.

Like, I read somewhere that people like me that aren’t open about shit have telltale little signs people can pick up on that drop hints. I think it’s stereotypical as fuck (trust me, I’m not the one stereotyping here, it’s other people) but supposedly every gay man of the world has a quirk of some kind. I’m not talking about transgendered, or transsexual women who used to be men, and I'm not talking about fem guys like Justin either. I’m talking your basic cis gender male that looks, acts, and talks like a dude.

(Did some research last night. Learned some fancy new words and shit.)

Now this guy may appear to you as your typical testosterone fueled heterosexual, like Andy, for example. But he’s really not. Far from it, actually. Behind closed doors he’s listening to Adelle, he’s watching romantic comedies and fucking _crying_ over the ending, and maybe he’s got a few clothes in his closet that heteros wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. He’s binge watched every episode of Will & Grace, that type of shit.

Now, I’m not saying guys like that don’t exist, and I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it, but that shit’s just over-hyped, know what I’m saying? And most men are intelligent enough to acknowledge the fact that watching Will & Grace, crying at the end of a movie, or liking Adelle doesn’t mean you’re gay. Fucking other dudes means you’re gay! That should be obvious! And then there are some gay men of the world that when they come _out_ of the closet, they’re not obvious with the shit either.

They are just regular guys, but they might have a tiny, less obvious telltale sign that they’re out. Like, maybe they have an ear pierced, or they have a goatee (those were popular for a while) They’re not blasting the shit for all the world to see, but they’re dropping hints, man. But then… there are guys that just don’t advertise that shit. They don’t have little quirks like that. They don’t have anything to reveal about themselves at all. Like me.

I’m one of those guys. I have zero aspects of my personality that I feel I need to conceal because I think they’ll “out” me. The only thing I hide from people is my interest in other men. Thus my closet status. But there are also guys like Justin in the world, and Justin himself confuses me. I get that when some men come out, they stop hiding themselves away, but what does Justin have to hide from _me_?

Why does he suddenly become a whole new person entirely around Sam? And why does he have to act like there’s a rule book on how to be gay, and act like I’m not gay enough for him, or some shit? Why can’t I hang out with guys like Smoke and Andy, roll a joint and sip on a 40oz every once in a while? Why does Justin’s favorite phrase to me have to be, “Like, oh my god, Lenny! You can’t just say things like that!”

Why can’t I like Slipknot? Why do I have to like Adelle? Why do I have to wear tight ass fucking pants and care about my appearance as much as he does? Why do I gotta switch to vegan food and eat fucking soy? Why can’t I eat a fat, greasy cheeseburger after I smoke weed and when someone starts being a dumbass, why can’t I tell them? Why cant I be real with people?

Isn't the whole point of coming out about being genuine with shit and not being fake?

So why the fuck does Justin gotta be some fake ass little bitch about shit?

(Those are rhetorical questions, by the way.)

All I’m saying is, why does Justin think I have to be more like him, just because we’re together? Instead of turning me into a progressive, politically correct, environmentally friendly, puppy loving vegan, why not just break up with me and go _find_ a guy like that? Why does he have to turn me into something I’m not?

Better question, why the fuck am I _letting_ him?

Because whenever Justin tries shoving me into his bullshit little Justin box, I feel like I’m not the one stereotyping people. He is. Like, the whole internalized homophobia he accuses me of having is fucking bullshit, man. I don’t hate myself because I’m gay. I don’t hate others for being gay. It ain’t nobody's goddamned business who you fuck (unless the shit’s illegal) so why do I have to be typecast as the fucking villain of Justin’s “coming out” novel?

Why does he have to act like there’s an acceptable way to be gay or some shit?

Newsflash: I’M GAY. The fact that I’m on my way to his brother’s house to suck Mack’s soul out through his dick and fuck him until his brains are leaking out through his eyeballs is proof enough. I know I’m no hero. But I’m not the villain because I’m homophobic, man. I’m the villain because I’m the fucking asshole about to fuck his big bro, and make him my daddy, know what I mean?

Which brings us back around to Mack.

Now Mack? Mack could be what psychologists coined as ‘latent homosexual’. Or maybe he’s always known he liked men, but due to society’s bullshit views on homosexuality, he bottles that shit. His reasons could be like mine; he doesn’t want to be the victim of some fucked up prank at the types of parties we go to. And he doesn’t want his life to shift so drastically. Or maybe (and most likely) it ain’t nobody’s motherfucking business who he fucks.

Maybe he’s like me; maybe he doesn’t have anything to hide, except how badly he’s wanted to fuck me.

I don’t know what it is, but it’s none of my business. I just think it’s kind of funny. He totally blindsided me with his closet gayness. And I find I’m rather impressed. Like, I can’t even be pissed. As I said, the dude’s a fucking ninja with shit. Nothing about him screams, “I’m gay!” Maybe ex convict, but gay? Hell no. So I’ve got this stupid smirk on my face as I’m staring out the window, when I get curious of something else.

I’ve never been in Mack's truck before now, and he's got a CD case strapped to the visor in front of me so I flip it down, feasting my eyes. I lean in closer and they widen. Out of the corner of his eye, Mack sees me looking, and flips on the overhead so I can browse his music. I blink a few times, first at the light, then at the music I can now more clearly read and I know I’ll sound like Sam when I say this but… Oh. My. Fucking. GOD.

You want to know what he's got, don’t you?

They are as follows:

*Ahem*

AC/DC, Zeppelin, Skynard, Iron Maiden, fucking GODSMACK! (He’s seen my shirt, he’s got the motherfucking album in his car and doesn’t tell me this shit?!) Tool, Nirvana, Amon Amarth, Disturbed, Metallica, Korn, Marilyn _Fucking_ Manson, a few burnt CDs, a Black Sabbath, some Pantera, some Deftones, and then right at the end, I give you the pièce de résistance: Slipknot. An album I have, and I’m wigging out right now, like, I’m giddy as fuck, man.

This guy? This guy right the fuck here? This guy is my breed. This guy really is my type.

Could it be that I’ve found my soulmate or something? Like, holy shit! Nothing about this tells me he’s secretly gay, but everything about this tells me he’s secretly the man of my dreams. But I think, no, there’s no way this guy is _that_ fucking perfect, but I have to know. I’ve got to test him. I gotta see if this is legitimately the real thing, or if he just bought this album for kicks, listened, and was like, “Man, this shit sucks.”

I play it cool, and without a word, I slide it out of the case and pop it in the deck, skip to the track, and flip off the light. I side-eye him, he’s lighting up a cigarette, and when he hears the song come on, I _wish_ I could describe what I’m feeling right now because he’s like, “Shit,” and he turns it up! Like, _way_ the fuck up. He’s blasting this shit like it’s his jam. I just kick back and light up. If there’s a heaven, this is it.

Out if the corner of my eye I can see him mouthing some of the lyrics too. So we just listen, and it’s fucking great. Like, I’m not even twitching right now, I just feel… good. Really good. I mean, this isn’t even anything like awkward, which is crazy. I usually feel closed off from people, but not tonight. We’re going to his house to bang and shit, but I don’t even feel the slightest bit weird about it. I guess because we’re friends too?

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the need to hide, nor do I feel exposed, I just feel… _normal_. Crazy, right? I wonder if Mack feels that way too. But I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to question. I don’t want to ruin it, don’t want to read too much into this shit, or over-analyze the situation (Mack's right, I do over-analyze and blow shit way out of proportion, I guess) I just want to ride the high while it lasts.

And go to Mack's place so I can ride that dick, because this guy's my fucking dream date!

What are the cosmic odds?!

So we jam out to Slipknot the rest of the way to his house (he turns it down when we hit the park because of neighbors and shit) the truck pulls to a stop, and this is it.

I glance his way before climbing out, and follow him to the porch. The light is off, so he fumbles with his keys for a second, then shoves the door open. Lights are off inside too, but he doesn’t bother flipping them on, just tosses his keys on the counter, shrugs off his jacket, saying, “So you said somethin’ about fuckin’ that ass like I own the shit, huh?” Then he turns around as he’s peeling off his shirt. (The dude's a Greek God.)

He steps towards me.

“Oh, that ass is _mine_ ,” he assures me, and then grabs me by the collar and shoves me back against the wall, pressing his lips to mine. A picture frame crashes to the floor and I’m moaning in his mouth when he kisses me again. The joys of privacy. I can be loud. Like, I’m not going to get _too_ loud or anything, because I don’t want Mack's neighbors down the street hearing me scream, but I do make some noise.

And like, I know I’m only 5’8” but I’m heavier than Justin and I’m solid muscle, so the fact that Mack can just lift me up, wrap my legs around him, and toss me around like a fucking ragdoll is hot.

This dude isn’t just my fantasy. He’s fucking _acting out_ my fantasy.

Like… How?! How does he know this about me?! How does he know I like it rough like this?!

Am I just that easy to read, or what?

Or am I just one of the rare few people in the world that reach a connecting point between what they want and what they get, and… yeah, over-thinking this again, I know. I should just enjoy it. But, see, _that’s_ what I’m saying? Like, for once in my life I’m not just turned on, but I’m mentally there. Physically, _and_ emotionally, I’m in this moment and not wishing I was anywhere else. So I let him carry me to his bedroom, flip on the light and throw me on the bed.

Rather ingeniously, it’s just a mattress and box spring, no frame to break, like the shit’s a gym mat and we’re about to throw down. And he _slams_ me down too, then kicks off his shoes before he's on the bed as well, and unbuckling his belt. Like, I swear, if he starts whipping me with his belt next, I'll know this isn’t real then, and that it’s all psychosomatic. Because that’s really the only thing that’s missing at this point.

So, he doesn’t, (which means I’m not hallucinating–this is definitely the real shit!) and instead he’s on his knees above me, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet, and therein lies the key to my salvation, a lubricated condom, and I’m frantically undressing while he’s yanking off his belt, unzipping his fly, then tearing open the packaging with his teeth. And his eyes never leave mine the whole time.

I’ve got this crazy feeling that he’s about to do what he’s been doing to me in his head all night, and I want a taste of that. “How do you want me?” I ask him, as he slips the condom on.

“On your knees,” he says, and I’m fucking syked.

I smirk a little, and he fucking grins that smug ass grin again.

Man, so sorry to leave you hanging right here like this, but just stick around, alright?

Trust me, it’s coming. (Ha, and so will I.)

Because the night is still young, and we're just getting started.

So don’t you touch that dial, folks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	5. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You wanna go slow?”_
> 
> _I chuckle. “Oh fuck no,” I say. “Fuck me as hard as you want.”_
> 
> _I’m sensing a little déjà vu here, how about you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Pain"–Three Days Grace](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Snf3jzJt64U&feature=share)
> 
> Yes, you beautiful fuckers, the chapter you've been waiting for.

Look, I know you’ve got your hand down your pants and you’re like primed and ready to masturbate to this shit but just… just hold the fuck up.

Just wait a minute.

I gotta tell you something first.

I gotta warn you that there might be some shit that happens that you are not okay with.

Like, I know there’s a right and wrong way to do this, that there is like a whole BDSM community centralized around this type of shit (and they would probably tell me that how I get my freak on is all unhealthy and shit) But it’s all consensual, I assure you. It’s just… not really a healthy way of going about things, right? Like you gotta talk to people about this shit first. You have to set rules, boundaries, respect those boundaries, make up a safeword and all that.

And the polite thing to do is at least ask permission first, right?

Well, just forget everything you know about demoralizing sex for a moment, and suspend yourself in an air of disbelief. Because I don’t need to give permission. I know I’ve been drinking, but you can take your dubious consent and shove it way the fuck up there.

This is what I want. What I’ve fantasized about. What I need.

I know it’s wrong, but I’m tired of trying to do things right.

Fuck boundaries. Fuck safewords.

I am definitely down with Eddie Macintosh fucking taking that shit prison style and making me his bitch tonight. I will let him emasculate the fuck out of me. Like, I _want_ to be humiliated. I _want_ to feel like I’m being taken advantage of and feel like there is nothing I can do about it. I _want_ to be hurt. I don’t know why. And I won’t try to break it down for you psychologically or anything. I just find it cathartic, alright?

But maybe that’s why I put up with Justin. Subconsciously I reach for any sliver of depreciation I can get. But Justin just pushes my buttons and then retreats back into his precious little bubble of sexual security. Which is just irritating. And the way he causes me pain just pisses me off and makes me want to snap. Not fuck his brains out. He pushes me, but not the way I want to be pushed.

And there is just something about Mack that tells me he’ll push all the right buttons, just the way I want.

Now, where was I?

Ah yes.

He wants me on my knees…

* * *

He smiles at me, but only for a second, and my heart is racing because that second later the smile is gone and replaced with a very sinister look. And it’s fucking sexy as hell. He snatches me up, grabbing me by the hips, and flips me over, yanking me back against his groin and I’m all over that shit. I grind against him when he slides his dick between my cheeks, I’m so turned on I’m practically shaking.

One hand is probably leaving bruises on my hip because he grips me so tight, and the other is on my shoulder, his thumb digging into the space between the shoulder blade and my spine. I feel him grip my shoulder just a bit tighter before his other hand comes off my hip, so he can guide himself in. No preparation before hand, he just lines himself up and shoves it in, and I’ll tell you it hurts like a bitch!

I cry out when he gets the head in and I can’t even move to get away from it. His grip is too strong and for all I know I’m fucking bleeding because he stretched me so wide open that fast, and all I can do is take it. He slides in, and now I’m really fucking shaking, because he’s filling me up quick. “You alright?” I hear him ask, breaking the façade for a moment, when he's fully inside me.

“Yeah, it’s just been a while,” I chuckle as I’m gasping for air.

“I can tell,” he says.

“Been a while” is an understatement though.

Firstly, I was in no way prepared for this. For one thing, like, I’ve showered? But had I known I was getting fucked tonight, I would’ve been a lot more thorough with my routine. And another thing, “awhile” is more like fucking forever because, I won’t lie, I have too little opportunities. Most have consisted of masturbation (which of course I don’t even count) and then the few times with Justin when we first started hooking up.

When we were just “experimenting” before Justin decided he didn’t like being the one penetrating. I don’t want to enforce switching as a requirement in our relationship, because I’m not going to make him do shit he doesn’t want to do. And I’ve had so little time to myself lately to masturbate beyond a quick jerk in the shower (which is just so unfair) because that’s my only me time, and whenever Justin is home, it’s all about him.

So what can I do? Besides be miserable and hard up for a dick? But as I’m saying this, there is currently a huge fucking dick rammed up inside me and it hurts, but I like it. It's hitting that peculiar part of my brain that craves pain and humiliation, and I'm all over that shit. I’m in so much fucking pain right now I feel like I’m gonna die, but I need _more_. And I need this sadistic fuck to give it to me. Though Mack still has the common decency to ask me, “You wanna go slow?”

I chuckle. “Oh fuck no,” I say. “Fuck me as hard as you want.”

I’m sensing a little déjà vu here, how about you?

He chuckles a little, then leans over me to grab my hair and yank my head back. “You want me to make you cry like a little bitch tonight, don’t you?” he asks, close to my ear.

“Oh fuck yes,” I sigh.

“Mmm,” he groans, liking the sound of that, then takes his hand from my head to wrap his arm around me and pull me back against his chest, leaning back on his calves a little. “We’ll get there,” he says in my ear, and starts slowly.

I’m disappointed at first, because I want the hard and fast, but he does something ingenious, and amazing. It does the trick because it freaks me the fuck out. He leans down and snatches the gauge in my ear between his teeth and I instantly freeze, sucking in a breath. I can’t stand when someone fucks with my ears, man. It’s pisses me off. And I know that if I budge an inch, it’ll rip it out. I hear it click against his teeth and that shit makes me shiver.

He’s got me right where he wants me.

So he’s got me trapped, completely immobile, and oh the irony that he’s giving me exactly what I want by denying me what I want. Because I’m fucking helpless. His arms are around me, he’s like a python with a fucking death grip on me, and he’s fucking me slowly. He stays deep inside me, angling his thrusts to stay right up on my prostate and he doesn’t let off that shit. It’s starting to not even hurt at all anymore.

I’m gripping his forearms and trying to fuck into it, but I can’t fucking move. I gotta admit this shit’s pretty intimidating. My fight or flight reflexes have kicked in. Like if I got in a lucky swing I could knock him out, but physically I’m outmatched, and in this position I’m totally outclassed. And I love this feeling. I’m getting high on this feeling right now. I swallow hard, and test my limits a little. I try to pull away, but he growls and squeezes tighter.

My breath catches. Like, you know how in movies when a vampire is sucking on its victim, and when they struggle their grip on them gets stronger? That’s what he does. I have definitely become his victim here. My hard-on is back and I start feeling like I’m going to come, like I’m two seconds away from that shit. It feels so good. And he’s not even hurting me, but the way he’s got me right now is getting me off and I start to feel it build.

Like, goddamn, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten off hands-free like this? Like he’s not even jerking me while he fucks me. The guy’s a fucking master. And he starts fucking just a little harder, and a little faster, giving me just the right kind of stimulation that I’m literally seconds from coming. But then he does something that makes me love and hate him at the same time.

Because he feels it building too, he stops completely and tugs on my balls, and the feeling’s gone. Like the glorious bastard he is, he fucking denies me that shit too, and has me whining like a two year old over it in frustration. He lets go of my ear and chuckles, like he finds my suffering so damned funny (The evil fucking prick!... Damn, I think I’m in love!) And then he starts all over. I reach up behind me, tangle my fingers in his hair and squeeze, hearing him groan.

He starts sucking and nibbling on my neck, hands all over me while he fucks me. Slowly building me back up, slowly fucking harder, and faster, biting my neck, and then he asks, “You wanna come, baby?”

Oh I do, but I got a feeling I know what’s coming.

“Yeah?” I respond, and this motherfucker yanks on my balls! I wince, because that shit’s painful, and I’m not really feeling like I’m going to come now. Like, this is definitely not pleasure pain to me. It irritates the shit out of me.

“Then ask me nicely,” he says, and keeps a firm grip on my testicles while he fucks, keeping my orgasm from building.

There are two natural responses to this type of situation, fight, or give in, and my response is to fight. Like, submission is just not my style. So I elbow this motherfucker with a scowl and he grunts, then his response is to tug harder, making me cry out. His hand comes up around my throat, and he growls, “Yeah, that’s right, baby, fight me. But you’re not comin’ until you ask me nicely.” I fucking whimper at that shit. Part of it is frustration, and part of it is just that sexy fucking voice of his.

And the feel of that hand around my throat. My dick jumps at that shit, with a mind of its own.

This guy’s got me all twisted up, and now–mainly because he won’t let me–all I want to do is come.

And he is not gonna let me have it just like that. He wants me to beg for that shit.

But I also know he doesn’t want me to give in that easily. He likes pissing me off, and he likes seeing me struggle. I like it too. So I do. I keep at it until this guy’s got me damned near crying. Like, fuck. He’s really not fucking around, is he? He’s really going to live up to his word and make me cry like a bitch. He alternates between tugging on and massaging my balls, keeping me constantly at that most intense moment right before I come, but the second I come close he switches.

He slows down, he’s easing back, and he’s got me trapped in his death grip still. I’m in a constant flux of intense pleasure, and equally tenuous frustration. The frustration starts to become the forefront of my focus, and I’m irritated as fuck.

But, see, I gotta ask nicely.

“Please let me come,” I finally beg, when I just can’t take it anymore.

But, in hindsight, this is probably also where I fuck up, because I should’ve known it wouldn’t be over at that. He cuts me off again, and this time it really does bring tears to my eyes. Like, I’m now crying over this shit, and I hear him groan, definitely getting off on my suffering like the sadistic fuck he is. “Again,” he growls, because the first time wasn’t convincing enough I guess, and I’m pissed. “Come on baby,” he tells me. “Like you mean it. Beg for that shit.”

See? Told you.

“Please,” I choke, then wince when again he denies me and all but stops thrusting entirely.

“Again,” he tells me.

“Please, baby,” I whine.

“Mmm, one more time,” he says, and I pout.

He’s not the only one playing this game, though. I’m playing it too, and I’m playing it right up his alley. And I think I know just how I can get him going too. I reach up behind me again and start caressing the back of his neck, turning my head to murmur in his ear with the sweetest, most helpless (and frankly, fucking pathetic) voice I can manage, “Come on, baby, let me come,” and I nibble on his ear. I hear him moan, definitely liking that. “Please? Let me come on that dick.”

He moans his approval again and shudders wrack through his body.

“That’s more like it,” he says and leans in for a kiss, taking his hand off my sac and rubbing my thigh instead, his tongue deep down the back of my throat, as far as he can get it as he fucks as deeply as possible too, before tearing away and bending me over. He pushes me down and I’m now on my forearms, ass up, and he spreads my knees wider. He pushes down on my back and from this angle, goddamn, it’s perfect.

“Mmm,” I hear behind me (he’s enjoying the view) and he slides almost all the way out, then back in.

The motion takes some getting used to, because before now he’s been deep inside me, and now being right up on my prostate is no longer a constant, so it takes some adjusting. But I know this motherfucker is watching that dick slide in and out of my tight fucking ass, and that’s hot. Gradually he picks up pace and starts searching for that perfect angle to make me want to scream his name for the whole trailer park to hear that shit. (I don’t, but I want to.)

Then he grabs the back of my head, tugging on my hair. It starts to feel fucking amazing. “Mmm, you want it like that?” I hear.

“Oh fuck yeah, just like that,” I moan and he keeps it up.

I’m fucking dying now, for real this time (okay, no I’m not, but it feels like it) because I’ll tell you, getting hit with an orgasm from the inside is super fucking intense. I feel it build, and when it hits me, it hits hard, because Mister Smooth Criminal here seems to know me better than I do, and knows just how hard and fast to penetrate to elevate me to my peak. He slows down right before I’m there and gives me just these short quick thrusts right up on my prostate.

I’m close, so motherfucking close. My eyes roll back. I feel it now.

And it’s like my soul just left my body with how hard I come all over his bed.

“Fucking shit!” I curse, shaking, shooting out cum (so sorry about your sheets, Mack) and then he goes nuts. Yeah, I really don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into now.

You see, Mack hasn’t come yet. And now it’s his turn.

He pushes me forward and fucking smashes my face into the pillow like he’s trying to smother me, but I can breathe because I’ve got my head turned to the side. He spreads my legs even farther apart with his knee. Then, with one hand on my ass, and the other pressing into my back, he fucks me as hard as physically possible, man. Which is pretty fucking hard. And since I came, I’m way oversensitive to the shit.

I’m whining, crying, shaking, and almost to the point that I’m not even entirely sure I still want this shit. But I’m not about to tell him to stop. I feel like I can’t for some reason. I mean, I can. I can say stop, it’s in my vocabulary, but there’s just something about Mack hate-fucking me right now that feels good mentally, even though it doesn’t feel good physically. And I hear him behind me grunting, getting off on this shit like crazy.

I start clawing my way away from him out of instinct and he presses down even harder on my back. He reaches up and yanks the back of my head, making me gasp and I’m this close to calling it quits and begging him to let me suck him off instead, but when he grabs my head like that, he slows down, his thrusts becoming slightly erratic. He comes, I feel him throbbing, and I shit you not, the sound he makes when he comes is fucking music, man.

It’s heavenly, because it sounds like it was so intense that now _he’s_ dying. So now we’re both out of breath, and he does something that’s actually pretty awesome and just what I needed, because I’m shaking, whimpering pathetically still, and he just settles down on top of me, snakes his arms around me, and groans, kissing my shoulder. The skin to skin contact feels great, and it’s stabilizing in a very intense situation. “You alright?” he asks, and I nod my head. “Good?”

“Oh, hell yes,” I chuckle, and he squeezes me tighter.

Feels _really_ good.

I mean, damn, I’ve never felt like this before.

I sigh and let him hug me closer, shifting around a little so that my hips don’t feel like they’ll snap, and then just let him hold me, nuzzling his jaw. No lie, we snuggle the shit out of each other for a few minutes.

“Goddamn,” he chuckles. “If I knew all this time it would be like that, I’d have snatched your ass up a lot sooner,” he says. “Mmm.” Then he buries his head in my neck.

I start laughing. “Where the fuck have you been all my life,” I sigh, and he snorts. He’s getting soft inside me, and he starts easing out.

“Waitin’ on you man,” I hear him say, and I wince a little when he pulls out, but then I chuckle at his words.

“I think I need a safeword to fuck around with you,” I joke as I’m melting into the mattress. “No lie, if I had known you were willing to go that fucking far with shit, man, I would’ve said something sooner. Next time maybe warn me though?” He laughs. He rolls over onto his back next to me. I realize what I just said to him. I made it sound like there would _be_ a next time, didn’t I? There might not be. This might just be a one time thing.

I mean, it _is_ a one time thing, right? I turn my head to face him, seeing him grinning up at the ceiling.

“Yeah that might be a good idea,” he says. I snort a little.

I glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 2:07. When we pulled into his driveway it was 12:15 am. Fuck, from start to finish, we’ve been at it for damned near two hours now. Goddamn. No wonder I feel so wrung the fuck out. He sighs and sits up, peeling the condom off and tossing it on the floor, then he scrounges for something to clean up the excess dribble of cum, and he hands me a shirt so I can do the same.

“Sorry about the mess,” I say as I scrub away my cum seeping through the blanket. He just shrugs. He sits up completely, buttoning his pants, and I catch sight of the tattoo on his back as I’m reaching behind me while he’s not looking to check to see if I am actually bleeding. I’m not. It just felt like it. But I’ve had a few beers and alcohol did the trick to relax me, just enough that I didn’t rip wide the fuck open. I toss the shirt aside and flop down on my back, breathlessly.

But then, finally, I have enough sense to reach up and slap his arm.

“What the fuck, man?” he says, grabbing his arm.

“You’re gay?!” I snap, and he just sighs, then shakes his head.

“You mean to tell me you never picked up on that shit?”

“Yeah, no?!”

“Hmph,” he huffs. “Well, shit. I’ve known you wanted to fuck me since we met,” he then tells me. My eyes widen. He chuckles. Man, I don’t want to hear that. Because then that means other people could tell. “Oh you couldn’t make that shit more obvious to me. I don’t think anybody else ever picked up on it, but I knew.” I exhale. I’m not sure if he’s being serious, or just being a cocky son of a bitch (sorry Mrs. Macintosh) and bullshitting me right now but…

Damn.

He stares, I stare back, and I have no idea what to say to this. We just fucked. Mack and I just fucked. It was awesome, but…

“Man, why didn’t you say anything?” I ask him. “I thought you’d kick my ass if you knew I liked you!”

He snorts a little, eyes passing over my body for a second. “Oh, I wanted to do somethin’ to that ass, alright.” He puts on that sly, smug fucking grin again. I scowl a little, but it doesn’t last long because he bites his lip and just gives me this innocent look like he’s saying, “What? I didn’t do nothin’.” And it’s kind of adorable. So I shake my head at him instead. “So what are the flowers for?” he asks and I blink.

Oh. Right. Flowers.

He’s never seen the tattoo on my side. I lift my arm and glance down at it. And before you ask, no they’re not black roses dripping with blood around a skull or some shit. They’re carnations, and they’re pink. And I bet you’re all like, “Whoa, Lenny, what the fuck bro, I thought you said you didn’t have any secret gayness?” Fuck you, they’re for my grandma. They were her favorite flower. I leave some on her grave every year for her birthday.

“Oh, yeah, they were my grandma’s favorite.”

“You still miss her,” Mack guesses and I nod.

“Every day. Man, she was great. One of those sweet little old ladies that would bake you cookies and shit like that. She was always doing church stuff, but she was like… the real deal, man. Not one of those Sunday Christians, you know? One of those types that would give you the shirt off her back, the food off her plate. Like, the whole treat others how you want to be treated kind of person. She used to volunteer at the soup kitchen before she got too sick to do it.”

He smiles a little. “She sounds pretty nice.” He leans back against the spot of the wall where the headboard would be and folds his arms. I really don’t know what to think right now, but just like Mack, I’m curious too. The tattoo on his back is interesting. “Death Is Not The Worst Of Evils,” it says. Most people only ever remember the first part of the quote though.

“Live free, or die; death is not the worst of Evils,” I quote, arching a brow, gesturing to my back. He knows I refer to his and he chuckles.

“Damn right,” he says. “General Stark of the American Revolution wrote that shit. And truer words were never spoken. Words to live by.”

I smirk.

I can’t believe this shit man. I’m laying naked in Mack’s bed after we just had sex and we’re just shooting the breeze talking about our tattoos. Is this really my life? Or am I dreaming this shit?

“I can’t believe I didn’t know about you,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you say anything? I mean, does Justin know?”

He makes a bit of a “yikes” face, then says, “No offense man? But I don’t want my little brother knowing this about me and doin’ the shit to me that he’s been doin’ to you. I really don’t want to be in your shoes. I feel bad enough that _you’re_ in your shoes.”

I shrug and nod a little. Man’s got a point. If Justin knew his brother liked other men, he’d make a big deal out of it like he does me. And everything would change. But still…

“Does anyone know?” I ask him. “Man I’m sorry for being so nosy, I just–”

“It’s all good man,” he assures me with a chuckle, and just shrugs. “Smoke knows,” he then tells me. “I think he forgets about it half the time though.”

“I don’t think he remembers his own _name_ half the time,” I say and he nods because it’s probably true, knowing Smoke.

“Nah, I just… I get what you mean. You want to know how the whole damned town doesn’t know about it. Why I haven’t said nothin'.” I nod a little. He turns his head, he looks right at me, and says, “Because it ain’t nobody’s goddamned business, that’s why.”

I laugh a little, flopping my head back against the pillow. “You’re my fucking hero, man,” I gush a little. “I mean, fuck, I thought I was the only one.”

“What, the only one to think it ain’t nobody’s business what you do with your life? Hell no. That’s been my entire life.” He reaches down and pats my arm. “Trust me, you’re not alone, man.”

I don’t feel like I am. Not right now. Which is crazy because… I never feel this way. This is… new.

He sighs and crawls out of bed, searching for his belt. “So, you want to go back to Smoke’s, or should I take you home?” he asks. I bite my lip and sit up.

“Yeah I guess it’s about time I get out of your hair, huh?” I say and reach for my underwear, pulling them on before my pants are next. “I guess just take me back to Smoke’s? It don’t really matter.”

I look up as I’m shrugging on my pants to see Mack giving me this funny look. I don’t know how to explain it, but… He doesn’t nod or anything and just stares and he looks… disappointed.

Kind of how I feel, because I know this was just like a one night stand and all, not serious or anything, so if he wants me to leave, well, I gotta respect that shit, right? So I don’t really get the look he’s giving me right now. But I don’t really want to leave. My eyes drop, I zip and button my fly, buckle my belt, then hear, “You wanna crash here tonight?” And I look up. “Got some weed. Jack and Coke in the fridge. Wanna get fucked up?”

Yes. Fuck yes. I want to spend the rest of my life with this guy… Okay, yeah, I know that’s a little too much too soon. Like, back the fuck up, Lenny. Way the fuck up.

“Alright,” I shrug nonchalantly.

“Well, alright,” he grins real big and I chuckle a little as I follow him out of the room. And I think I just realized how he knows I’ve liked him all this time. Because man, I feel myself blush like crazy when he smiles at me like that, and I have zero control over the shit. _Dammit_ , I inwardly curse. Maybe not to anyone else, but to this man? I’m an open book. And I don’t really know how to take that, honestly. This is so fucking surreal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: "Live free or die" is the New Hampshire state motto (And no, we don't live in New Hampshire, smartass.)
> 
> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	6. Jacked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you love him?”_
> 
> _“I don’t know.”_
> 
> _“That ain’t a yes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Black Hole Sun"–Soundgarden](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=QehmJURKlJs&feature=share)
> 
> Drew a picture of Mack. It's shitty, but _[here it is](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1e4e6bfd4cfe821b4a8183ba0c3beccd/tumblr_pq098wbr3q1wxyd86_640.pnj)_.

I’ve known Mack for the better part of ten years now. We met through Justin of course, I mean, that’s a no brainer. And since we met, I’ve been to his house on numerous occasions. We do things like hang out and talk, watch UFC (which Justin hates now because he says it “just encourages violence”) or play video games (which Justin also hates, unless it’s something “non-violent”, which is rare) but for the first time in all the years I’ve known Mack, I feel like he’s a stranger all over again.

Like I’ve never been here before. Like I just stumbled upon this guy recently and I have no idea who he is.

I’m looking at his life (and mine) through new eyes, and it’s trippy. I wonder if this is how people would feel if they learned the truth about me. It’s not like Mack himself is any different, when in fact he’s exactly the same, but my perspective of Mack has changed. I’ve been drinking and I’m about to drink more, smoke more too, but I have this sudden sense of extreme clarity after being exposed to such rawness of character.

I contemplate this as I’m following Mack through the hallway, then through the living room and finally to the kitchen, watching him flip on the light, settling at the counter and lighting up a cigarette while Mack pokes around inside the refrigerator, then pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels, and a two liter of Coca-Cola, then sets them on the counter between us. Then he lifts two scotch glasses from the cabinet nearby.

My legs feel like Jell-O. I’m watching him (he’s shirtless, and now I don’t have to feel bad about looking, so you’re damn right I’m gonna check this guy out) as he sets down the glasses and then reaches into the freezer for an ice tray. “Quit starin’ at my ass,” he smirks and so do I. I flick the ashes off my cigarette and rub my chin. I watch him load the glasses with chunks of ice and then fill them up with Jack and Coke, sliding mine across the counter top.

Then I watch him tip his own back and down the whole thing in one shot, set down the glass, reach in his pocket for a cigarette, light it, and toss the lighter on the counter. “What the fuck are you doing with my brother, man?” he blurts with a laugh, like he’s been holding that question in all night, just couldn’t take it anymore, and my eyebrows raise. I don’t know how to react to that. So a gape a little, mouth hanging open, trying to come up with an answer.

Mack starts pouring himself a second drink, pinching his cigarette between his lips.

“I mean, he treats you like a fuckin' doormat,” he says, then squints when smoke gets in his eyes. “And he obviously doesn’t satisfy you either,” he adds and I look away, rubbing the back of my neck. “I love him, but, man… come on.”

I sigh at that. This is _his_ fucking family were talking about, and the guy’s on _my_ side of the argument, it seems. I won’t lie, this is strange. Really fucking strange.

But I can sort of understand why he’s in my defense on this. I understand a lot of things now. “I don’t know, man,” I shrug and tip back my own glass, chugging that shit like it’s water, because I don’t feel nearly drunk enough for this conversation. I set down my now empty glass and Mack slides it closer to pour me a second. “What can I do?” I ask myself more than Mack and my eyes wander over the counter.

“Fuckin’ tell em off, man,” he suggests. “Don’t let him get away with that shit.”

“I _can’t_ ,” I tell him. And I can’t stress that enough. “If I open my mouth I’m gonna go off, and I don’t want to hurt him. My switch only flips one way. It’s… it’s better if I just bottle that shit. Keep it to myself. Believe me man, nothin’ good ever comes of me bein’ honest with shit. Bad things happen when that lid comes off.”

“Huh, I believe it,” Mack tells me, then takes a drink. He wipes his mouth and sighs. “I heard Andy call you Twitch earlier. Man, I’ve _heard_ shit about you.”

I look up at him. He’s smiling. And this time it really is an “I know something you don’t” smile. I chew my lip. I can take a guess as to what he might have heard about me, and I'm not proud of that shit. He chuckles.

“Andy told me all _kinds_ of shit,” he says. “I just never knew it was _you_ though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he always called you Twitch. I never knew he was talkin’ about you.” He chuckles a little. “You were kind of like this,” He shrugs, staring up at the ceiling for a second, searching for the right words, “Unsolved mystery or some shit, I guess. Like some kind of ghost, everywhere I go. It’s been kind of a hobby of mine to figure out who this Twitch kid was. But I never saw him. We always just missed each other. And it didn’t really click in my mind ‘cause Smoke just said, ‘I’m gonna go pick up my kid’.”

“Wait, for real?”

Mack nods, then says, “So Andy calls me up and asks if I wanna come hang out tonight, says he’s throwin’ a party, and I was gonna say no, but...”

“But you just had to know?” I ask, smirking. “Had to solve the mystery?”

He nods, saying, “Then come to find out it was _you_ this whole time.” He chuckles again, almost disbelievingly. Then he shakes his head, taking a drag. “Hmph, he calls you that ‘cause of your leg?” he asks me.

I nod. “So what did you hear about me?”

“That you’re fuckin’ nuts, man. Off your rocker or somethin’. You put Rodney Hicks through a wall or some shit?”

“I shoved him up against the wall,” I correct. “Andy exaggerates shit.”

“Well you got quite the reputation out at Smoke's for bein’ some kinda Billy Badass.” I snort at that. He looks me up and down. “So why’d you do it?”

“I just ain’t got no patience man,” I tell him. “I’m–I’m _not_ psycho or anything, and I don’t _start_ fights with people, it’s just… people get in my face, they start runnin’ their mouth, pushin’ me, and I push back. I don’t play that game, man. I don’t roll over for nobody.” I get a little cheeky and add with a smirk, “Only in bed.”

He smirks a little. “Not easily though,” he says, like he likes the challenge, which I now know for a fucking fact he does. “You got a lot of anger, man.”

“Trust me, I had a damn good reason put my hands on Rodney,” I tell him. “The motherfucker deserved that shit.”

Mack lifts a brow, nods a little, like he’s inclined to believe me. He knows Rodney, knows he’s an asshole, probably hates him as much as I do. No love lost there. Then he shakes his head slowly. “Fuckin’ Twitch,” he sighs, like he can’t believe it.

I’ve been a ghost, he says. Like I’m Batman and he just found out Bruce Wayne’s secret identity. I shuck a little.

“Yeah, you spend all this time trying to figure out who he is, and here you took him home and fucked him,” I smirk.

So does he.

We lock eyes for a moment before the mood shifts back to something a little more serious as I say, “Justin _will_ push my buttons, and if I say something, it _will_ start a fight. Like I said, I don’t want to hurt him man. I don’t wanna hurt anybody. I don’t like that shit. I don’t like having to be that guy. I fucking hate that guy. But Justin’s always trying to change me and shit. I feel like he’s tryna _make_ me that guy. That fucking asshole that’s gonna put somebody in the hospital.”

“Well, if you keep bottling that shit, one of these days, he’s gonna push you too far,” Mack tells me. “Trust me, man, I know. Been there, done that shit. And I know how much of a brat my brother can be. He’s gonna keep pushing you until you snap.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

“I can’t talk to him. I never know what to say. I mean, do you think I _want_ to be treated like that? Fuck no. But Justin, man, he–he talks to me like I’m five and always finds ways to twist shit around to make me look like I’m in the wrong. I mean, am I? Because I don’t have a fucking clue and man, I’m tired. I’m just–yeah, I think I’m done,” I shrug, fiddling with my cigarette, dabbing the ashes in the tray with the end of it. “I don’t want to be alone. I hate that shit. But I don’t want keep doing this to myself either.”

I feel exposed when I say that, because I’ve never blurted out my insecurities like that before, to anyone. And now Mack knows.

Fuck. Maybe getting liquored up is a bad idea.

“Then leave him,” he suggests. Like it’s that easy. I sigh and finish my cigarette, then stamp it out in the ashtray, knocking my drink out next, draining the glass. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know.”

“That ain’t a yes.”

I sigh.

“And where the fuck am I supposed to go?” I ask, folding my arms on the counter. “I can’t stay at Smoke’s, he’s already got Andy on his couch, man, and… I don’t have anywhere else.”

Mack shrugs. “You can stay with me.”

I blink rapidly in surprise.

Could I?

Wait no, bad idea. Really bad idea.

I furiously shake my head, saying, “No, no man I can’t do that. I can’t make shit weird between you and your brother fucking staying with you. No way.”

He sighs. Then he leans over, folding his arms over the counter across from me. “I love my brother, but you’re like family too. You need some place to go, you’re welcome here. Justin can get over it.”

It hits my heart to hear him say that. I think you can guess why. I joke about that shit but… I really do have abandonment issues. I mean fuck, I have nobody. Smoke is more than a friend, like a crazy uncle, sort of? Andy’s alright, Lee’s pretty fucking rad too, but then… who else do I have in my corner besides this guy right here. And he tells me I’m like family. I look down at the counter. I can’t look at him anymore.

Not that I feel like I’m going to choke up and start crying like a baby in front of him. I already exorcised my emotional demons during sex. But I’m completely floored when I hear that.

I won’t lie, it scares the shit out of me. Because too many people have died on me. But… dammit, he cares about me. Do you know how good that feels?

“I can’t do that to you,” I tell him. “To either of you. Not after...”

I hear Mack huff a little. “Don’t tell me it’s because we fucked,” he says.

I hear his glass clink against the counter, then the sound of Coke being poured into the cup. Then he sighs. “You know what? Fuck it.” I look up as he’s setting the soda on the counter, then grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels. I watch him snatch up our cigarette packs and a lighter, shuffle around the counter, and I’m confused at first, as he grabs my hand and pulls me off the stool. “Fuck the Coke, let’s just get jacked,” he says, and drags me over to the couch.

* * *

Time passes incredibly slow, as well as breathtakingly fast, when you’re high. Fifteen minutes can feel like an hour, or an hour can feel like fifteen minutes, depending on where your train of thought takes you. Right now, mine circles around Mack. I’m still trying to figure him out. It’s been a few minutes maybe, long enough for him to put on some Nirvana, and he’s got his cellphone in a coffee mug to amplify the sound.

He’s across from me on the couch, hair tied away from his face, kicking back against the armrest while I’m laid back against the other, and we’re facing each other while he rolls a joint. I’m holding the bottle of Jack, sipping on it, while I watch him. He’s got one leg hanging off the couch, the other bent, and he’s got my feet in his lap. That’s really the only thing that’s off-putting, I guess? The fact that we’re touching. Not that it bothers me, but it’s pretty new to me.

Heart Shaped Box starts playing. He makes this face when he concentrates where he bites his lower lip as he twists the paper, rolling it with his thumbs and index fingers, then licks the adhesive. It’s kind of sexy. He glances up from under his eyelashes, saying, “What?”

Clueless as to why I’m staring at him. I shrug, and take another swig.

“I still can’t piece it together,” I tell him.

He smiles a little, narrowing his eyes. “Piece what together?”

“You!” I laugh, and so does he. “I mean shit, you’re… I don’t know, it’s just crazy. I mean have you always known you were bi? Or what?”

“I don’t like women,” he corrects.

Then he sits a little straighter and lights the joint in his hand. And I think wow, okay, he’s 100% then. It's a bit surprising to me, but then I think about how I've never seen Mack with a girlfriend, all these years. But I had just assumed he never took them home, you know? That he just wasn't into relationships. That he was a one night stand kind of guy. Maybe he is, and maybe tomorrow when I'm sober I'll rethink this whole situation, but...

Right now I kind of like this whole “I'm in on the secret” type thing.

“So, Smoke knows about you. Who else knows?”

Mack shrugs. “A couple of people,” he says. “Ain’t too many people I’d wanna tell about it anyway. Not in this town. Here, ya got too many older folks, all religious an’ shit. All the church goers would be on my doorstep with picket signs or some shit. My landlord, Maggie? She already hates me ‘cause I'm an atheist. She’d get me thrown out of this park quicker than shit if she knew I was queer.” He takes another hit. “The old haggard bitch,” he mumbles. I raise an eyebrow at that.

“Damn,” I say.

“You religious?” he asks me, changing the subject, leaning forward to pass me the joint and in turn I hand him the bottle.

“Uh, yeah, that would be a no,” I tell him, scratching my head. “I haven’t been to church since my grandma died. I went for her. But now that she’s gone…” I shrug.

“Never believed in that shit either?”

I think for a moment about how I want to say it. I didn’t mean for the conversation to take this turn, but hey, I can be honest with Mack, right?

“My parents are dead, man,” I say. “My grandma? She’s dead too. And all I got as far as family is buried in that cemetery. I’m not angry about that. I know shit happens that is far beyond anyone’s control. I’m not angry at some god for taking everything from me. I don’t hate the world, man. I just think to myself sometimes, that they’re ain’t no point in believing in shit. I mean, my grandma did, and look where it got her. Cancer killed her anyway.”

“Damn,” is all I hear from him. I lean my head back in a nod.

“You lose as much as I have? You stop searching for a god and just start looking for ways to function.”

Mack clicks his teeth. “She died of cancer and you still smoke,” he remarks, and I shrug.

“She never smoked a day in her life and still got sick,” I tell him. “If I’m gonna die the same way, at least I’ve got a legitimate fuckin’ reason to get sick. She didn’t have one man. She never did nothin’ to her body, never did nothin’ to deserve it either. My grandma was a saint. That shit fuckin’ pisses me off.”

“Did she know you like men?” he asks me. I shake my head.

“Didn’t wanna disappoint her. I think she’d be more upset that I stopped going to church though. But I just… I don’t what to believe, you know? Or even if I can.”

He nudges my leg. “Hey man, you don’t need have religion to have a good life, if that’s not what you want,” he tells me. “You just need somethin’ to live for.”

“Still workin’ on that,” I blurt out, surprised at my own honesty for a split second.

“I know the feeling,” he says. And this time, I don’t question it. I don’t assume anything. I believe him. He sits up a little, and we trade, one of us taking the joint, the other the bottle of Jack and then he slips the ring off his right index finger and tosses it in my lap. The ring that I've never asked about, but have always been curious of. “My dad gave me that before he died,” he tells me as I pick it up.

I glance up at him. He’s rubbing his lip with his thumb, eyeing the ring.

“That’s his wedding ring. The one he wore when he was married to my mother, before he met Linda. It was all he had left when he died.” Mack leans back a little. “When he found out how long he had left to live, he spilled everything, man. Every bit of truth he kept buried over the years. Told me stories from way back, when he used to ride, stories about my mom, about himself. The places he’d been, all the bad things he’d done, everything. He didn’t want any secrets between us. So we talked, man to man. He told me about his life… and I told him I liked men.”

My eyebrows raise at that.

“Oh, it was a surprise to him too,” he laughs. “But he gave me some of the best advice I ever received. He said, ‘Son, you live your life your way, or no way at all. Otherwise, you’re just wasting your goddamned time. So quit your cryin’ and just go live your fuckin’ life’. I took his words to heart.”

“Well shit. So in the end he didn’t even care?”

“Nah. He didn’t give a fuck. He was dyin’, man. He didn’t want to have any regrets. Didn’t want me to have ‘em either.” He shrugs a little. “Otherwise we’re wasting our goddamned time on this piece of shit planet, and there ain’t no point in livin’ at all.”

I nod a little at that. So does he and he lights up a cigarette. I stare at the ring in the palm of my hand, just a simple gold band, nothing fancy about it. But there’s weight behind it.

Everything about Mack makes sense now.

He spent all that time being scared to tell his dad he liked men, and in the end it didn’t matter. He didn’t even care.

So Mack simply chooses not to care either. He lives his life his way, or no way at all. One day at a time.

I feel like this is his advice to me.

“Does...does your mom know?” I dare to ask, and Mack sighs.

Mack doesn’t talk about Sarah. Not any more than I talk about my dad. Like, nobody talks about that shit. But Justin mentioned once that Eddie Sr’s first wife, Mack’s mom, Sarah, is in a mental institution upstate, has been since Mack was little. She flipped switch and tried to kill their dad, and Mack watched it happen. They found out she’s schizophrenic. He doesn’t bring it up. Ever, and for a second I feel like shit for doing it, but Mack just slowly shakes his head.

“I don’t talk to her,” he says.

He takes a long drag off his cigarette and I nod a little, jumping away from the topic of his mom. Like, I _get_ why he doesn’t want to talk about her.

“So it ain’t a secret, is it?” I ask him. “I mean, you’re out. You’re not… not in the closet or anything. Not everybody knows but… people know, right?”

He shrugs, and takes the ring back when I lean forward to hand it to him. “I didn’t announce that shit to the whole goddamn world or nothin’ but… no, it ain’t a secret either. I tell who I wanna tell. And who I want to know, well, they already know it.”

“I wish I could’ve done that,” I sigh. “I mean shit, what difference does it make? It didn’t change anything between me and Justin. Everything’s exactly the same. He still bitches at me just as much. Oh, but now Linda and his step-dad won’t talk to us. Our lives aren’t really all that much better or improved just because people know we’re together. He says it makes him feel normal, like everybody else, but I don’t feel normal, man. I just feel… wrong. Not like something’s wrong with me, but…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Mack comments.

“Like, straight people ain’t gotta announce that shit, they just live their lives, right? So why do I have to? And what the fuck for? I mean, you saw Justin touchin’ me an’ shit, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, he don’t do that at home. He did that shit just to make a fuckin’ statement. It aggravates the shit out of me.”

“I can tell,” Mack chuckles. “I get it. But you ain’t gotta hide shit either, man. You worry too much about what other people think. You’re too self conscious about shit.” He leans forward. “And you’re letting my brother walk all over you and shove all that fuckin’ health food down your throat.”

I get a little agitated when he says that, and I shift a little in my spot on the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s not anything I don’t already acknowledge, but hearing it from someone else just kind of affirms it. I'm kind of resentful of that fact. No, I _don’t_ really care what other people think, but…

I sigh. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’ anymore, man.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You ain’t the only one,” he says. “But you ain’t gotta let my brother tell you how to do it, Len. There ain’t no right or wrong way to be who you are. Just your way.”

“Or no way at all,” I say and he nods.

“He should’ve left you alone, man, he should’ve let you figure this shit out for yourself. You ain’t gotta make this comin’ out bullshit a goddamned parade. This ain’t a fuckin’ Lifetime movie. If you didn’t want anyone to know, if you didn’t want me knowing, he should’ve respected that. I love that little man, and he means the world to me, but he ain’t right for you, Len. You need to dump his ass.”

I sigh a little at that. I don’t know what more I can say. He’s right. It doesn’t matter why or how, but Justin and I are just not right for each other. I knew that already. I’ve known that shit for a long time. I’ve made every excuse in the book, but I’m running out of them, and quick. And I know that if I’m holding myself back just to keep from being alone, that means I’m holding Justin back too. He could be happy with someone else, but instead he’s stuck with me.

And I cheated on him.

He may get on my nerves, but he deserves better than that.

Maybe not physically, but I’m still hurting him.

I know it’s wrong.

I know that.

We’re quiet for a little while. I light up a cigarette and we share the bottle now that the weed is all smoked up. I think about things. Think about where I’m going to go, what I’m going to do with my life.

I think about my grandma. I feel bad that I never told her I was gay when she got sick like Mack told his dad. Maybe I should’ve. But when she found out she didn’t have much time left, she started giving me all this advice about how to be a good husband and father to my future wife and kids. Things like, “Now sweetie you make sure you treat her respectful, don’t you go raisin’ your voice, ya hear?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wouldn’t ever have to worry about raising my voice to my wife. Because I wouldn’t ever have one. I just let her talk. Listened. Held her hand. Squeezed it, even when I couldn’t feel her pulse anymore…

Goddammit, I miss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	7. Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know this night won’t last forever. I know eventually I’ll wake up to the reality that is my life. Eventually I’ll leave._
> 
> _I know it’s wrong, that it’s all fucked up, that I shouldn’t even be here, but..._
> 
> _Man, I don’t want it to end._
> 
> _I don’t want it to be over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: ["Over Now"–Alice In Chains](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Id3h3eRiuOs&feature=share)

“What the hell are you even still _doin_ ’ in this town, man?” he asks me.

I let out a groan and flop my head back against the armrest.

The Jack Daniels is gone. We’re trashed. We’ve been back to talking about shit for some time now, when Mack asks that question. It’s a serious question. At some point we gravitated closer on the couch, and I’m practically in his lap, my legs on either side of his hips, and our faces were a lot closer too before I flopped backwards ever so dramatically like that. But it’s like we’re magnets or something. We just keep getting closer and closer. More and more comfortable as the night progresses.

Like we’ve been fucking for years, or we’re an old married couple. I can’t take my eyes off him either. I mean, this man is fucking beautiful. He’s just… fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it.

“I was at your graduation,” he says. “Class valedictorian? You shoulda been in college or somethin’. Why the fuck are you still here flippin’ burgers, man? You should be far the fuck away from here, off to bigger and better things, not showin’ up at Smoke’s to get wasted every weekend.”

“I like going to his house. Smoke’s like my dad, man, he’s like family.”

“He’s like family to me too, but damn man. Why aren’t you even _tryin_ ’ to better yourself, huh? What’s holdin’ you back?”

“I don’t know,” I whine. Then I sigh. “But I _am_ trying. I thought about doin’ some online classes or somethin’, ‘cause then I ain’t gotta quit my job or nothin’, but I can’t decide on a school. And I don’t even know what I should do. Like, for a degree an’ shit. But I gotta pick somethin’.”

“Well, what do you _want_ to do?” he asks. I grimace. It’s embarrassing as fuck what I really want to do. I don’t want to say. Mack starts poking my side and I start squirming away from him because it’s tickling me. “Come on, man, what do you wanna do?” he repeats, trying to force the shit out of me.

“Fuckin’ stop!” I laugh. He grins and climbs on top of me, almost suffocating me, all of his weight on my chest, his arms snaking around my waist. Damn, he feels so good. We’re too wasted to fuck, but I wish we weren’t. We’re almost nose to nose now, and I’m too tempted to kiss him again.

“Come on, tell me,” he practically whines at me. “What do you want to do with your life?”

I pout a little. Then I sigh, giving in, and say, “I wanna write.”

He lifts a brow. “No shit? Well, what kind of shit you wanna write? Like novels, or…?”

Nope. Not saying. But Mack won’t take silence as an answer.

“It’s stupid.” He makes a face, like I’m bullshitting him. “Nah man it really is!” I whine. “It’s fuckin’ embarrassing.”

“What, like poetry or somethin’?” he chuckles. My silence is the answer. His brows raise. “No shit? You’re a poet? Well, damn.” I can’t tell if he’s shocked, impressed, or what, but me? I’m just feeling like an idiot. “What kind of poetry do you write?”

“Well it ain’t sonnets and shit,” I snap at him, because he gives me that look. “Man, I’m not writin’ Hallmark greeting cards or nothin’, it ain’t like that… I don’t know,” I shrug a little, fiddling with one of my gauges, “I just… I write whatever I feel like,” I mumble. “Not all of it’s poetry, but mostly. I used to read a lot of, like, Edgar Allen Poe, that kind of thing. I used to write all the time back in highschool. My councilor said it was a good way to deal with emotions and shit. I don’t think it’s all that good, not good enough to publish or anything, but… I just like writing it.”

“Well, then do it,” he says. “Go to school, write shit, make somethin’ of yourself.”

“I can’t write for a living, man,” I say, shaking my head.

“Why the hell not?” he asks. “You know how many people out there are fuckin’ famous for that shit? Come on.”

“It’s hard,” I tell him.

“That’s what school is for,” he says. “Higher education, man. You can go anywhere you want with that shit.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t. Publish shit online. People do it all the time.”

I sigh. There is absolutely no winning this argument with Mack. He’s got an answer for everything.

“I’m not even that good.”

“Says who?”

“Me! I’m sayin’ it. I fuckin’ suck at that shit. And I don’t want people knowin’ I write poetry man. I mean fuck. That’s just–”

“Queer?” he deadpans, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He’s right, it is kind of dumb to think that. There are a lot of famous poets (like Poe) that are not even gay, and so what if they are, doesn’t matter, they’re pretty badass, regardless. Song writers? Poets. Slipknot's lyrics? Poetic genius. I don’t feel like writing poetry makes me look like a fag, alright? I’m just self conscious about my writing because I can’t handle criticism.

And I’m scared nobody will ever want to read anything I write, that what I do will never matter. And it’s just sad, man, really sad, and– “Pathetic. I was gonna say pathetic.” Mack’s suddenly snickering at me and I don’t know why. “What? Why the fuck are you laughing?” His head drops to my shoulder. I feel him shaking, still laughing, but trying not to. “You’re an asshole.”

His head pops back up and he’s wiping tears from his eyes. “Nah it’s not that it’s just… Man, I cried during a movie once,” he laughs. “The dog died at the end of it, an’ that was the saddest shit I’d ever seen, man. It don’t get any more pathetic than that. Stop beatin’ yourself up just ‘cause you like poetry. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that… What?”

Now I’m laughing. And I’m trying so hard not to. “You cried at the end of a movie! That’s so fucking gay!” I tease. He scowls a little, reaches behind him for something, and I realize it’s a pillow because he smacks me with it, and I laugh even harder.

“Oh you think that shit’s funny do you?” he huffs, then smushes the pillow in my face, my head bounces repeatedly on the arm of the couch, and I’m dying at this point.

“Wait, stop stop stop,” I tell him, still laughing, as he’s trying to smother me. “Hold up.” I catch my breath when he takes the pillow away and look up at him. He’s not mad or anything, but he’s trying to be, though miserably failing at it, and he folds his arms, arches a brow. He clicks his tongue, then commences to beating me with a pillow some more, but this time he’s chuckling. He pins me down with the pillow.

“You better take that shit to your grave, man,” he tells me. “You tell anyone I cried over somethin’ like that, I swear I’ll take you to Smoke’s and drown your ass in that nasty fuckin’ pool of his.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I swear, mostly to get him to stop smothering me, but also, yeah. Smoke’s pool is disgusting. He tosses the pillow aside, settles back down with his arms around me. This has got to be the most ridiculous thing to ever happen to me. Being drunk as fuck, pillow fighting with Mack.

And I love it. I’m still laughing, until his mouth his on mine, and I forget what we were even talking about. He’s not rough or anything, just pecking my lips, and my arms can’t help but curl around his neck and my hands are in his hair. “Mnh,” is the sound he makes, and just that sound has me twisted into so many knots. I just want to move in permanently to this headspace right here, with Mack’s arms around me.

He pulls away a little, his face hovering just above mine. We’re not laughing anymore, and he’s just staring down at me.

“Why don’t you wanna leave town?” he asks, eyes darting over me, and I feel his hand stroking my side. I chew on my lip a little, debating on my answer. It probably sounds stupid. “You said you ain’t got any family left, so what’s holding you back?”

I sigh and look away.

“All I have is here,” I tell him. Looking back up at him, I say, “You, Smoke, Andy... Justin too,” I add. “My grandma, man, I’m the only family she’s got left alive, and if I’m gone, she won’t have anyone to take her flowers on her birthday.”

He sits back a little. “You do that for her?”

“Every year. Look, I was born in this town, man. Raised here. My grandma lived right here, across the street from the post office for like forty years. Everything I have, everything I want, is right here, in this town. I don’t want to leave. No, it’s not much of anything, fuckin’ flippin’ burgers an’ shit in this punk ass town, but it’s a paycheck. This is home, man.”

“I can respect that,” he says with a nod of understanding. “You should still think about school though,” he adds. “You should be doin’ what you want, not just what you have to.”

“What about you?” I ask him. “I mean since we’re talking about it, why are you out here hangin’ dry wall an’ shit?”

He snorts. “Cause it pays the bills,” he shrugs. “And it’s somethin’ I can do.” He chuckles a little. “I ain’t like you, man, I’m no Einstein.”

I shrug. “Well, I’m not either. I had to bust my ass to graduate. That shit was hard.”

Twice as hard since I missed two years of school being in lock-up. Had to take summer classes and everything to catch up. But, okay, yeah I guess the fact that I was still able to graduate at 18, with honors, is saying something. But still. Einstein? No way.

He takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose as he stares down at me.

“Everything I have is here,” he says to me.

“I guess we’re not that different then, huh?” I ask and he shakes his head slowly.

“I wouldn’t say that.”…

I don’t remember much of what happens after that. We go on to talking about all kinds of off the wall things, like poetry, art, music, all kinds of shit. I find out he’s got a thing for Ernest Hemingway. He’s read just about every one of his books. We talk about life. We talk about everything. I feel like… I feel like I’ve come home. I feel like this is right where I belong, right here, with this man, for the rest of my life. But, you know, there’s a saying.

_‘All good things must come to an end.’_

I know this night won’t last forever. I know eventually I’ll wake up to the reality that is my life. Eventually I’ll leave.

I know it’s wrong, that it’s all fucked up, that I shouldn’t even be here, but…

Man, I don’t want it end.

I don’t want it to be over.

* * *

I think it was all a dream, and I just made the whole thing up or something. The next morning, when I wake up, hungover as fuck, I think I just imagined all of it. Seeing Mack of all people at Smoke’s house, talking to him on the back deck, admitting to him that I like him. I must’ve just imagined him kissing me, taking me home, fucking my brains out. Like, maybe someone spiked my beer and I was hallucinating the whole night.

Because I just don’t see how it’s possible I could’ve come home with Mack to have the best night of my entire life. I just don’t see the odds of that really happening. I’ll open my eyes and find myself passed out in Smoke’s bathroom or something. Maybe on the living room floor and I’ll look up to see Andy on the couch, Smoke in the recliner, maybe some random people scattered about on the floor around me.

Red solo cups, empty beer bottles, maybe a broken plate or two. Maybe I’ll find a bunch of marks on my arms, like Andy or somebody took a Sharpie marker and drew all over me. He’ll show me the pictures later on his phone of everybody fucking with me while I’m passed out. Maybe I’ll have shaving cream in my hair. We’ll all have a good laugh, and life will continue, just like always. But that’s what I expect to see, at any rate.

Because there’s no way I left and went to Mack’s house.

I feel something moving underneath me, and I blink my eyes open.

I’m laying on his chest, and the movement is him, the rise and fall of deep breathing. None of it was a dream, and all of it was real. We’re in his living room. We passed out on the couch, and I’m snuggled up to him. He’s got one arm hanging off the couch, but the other is around me. I hear his heartbeat. I feel his skin on mine, the heat of his body, and it feels really good. But, well, I’m sober now, completely sober, and I swallow nervously.

I realize what I did. I slept with my boyfriend’s brother, man. From what I remember of it, it was great, but… I mean, holy shit, I fucked my boyfriend’s brother!!

I’m so fucked right now.

I mean this is just wrong on so many levels.

But hot damn did it feel good.

I don’t want to move. I don’t want to wake this guy up either, but it just clicked in my mind that Justin has my car, and I have to work later today. Somehow, I have to get back to the apartment, get a shower, and get my work uniform. And somehow, Mack’s gotta make that shit happen. So, if I have to wake him up, well, I’ll do it nicely. Slowly I move to sit up, but get smashed back against him when he feels me shifting around and hugs me closer.

I can’t help it, I hug him back, then lift my head to kiss his scruffy cheek. He feels so good. He’s nothing like Justin at all. I hear him hum a little in appreciation, vaguely aware of being kissed, then I slither out of his grasp. I stumble to the bathroom to take a piss. When I get out and make my way back to the living room, I see that he rolled over onto his side, but he’s still out. So I creep quietly into the kitchen.

I know Mack likes to have coffee first thing in the morning, and I know how he makes it (not that I’ve been stalking him or some shit–I’ve just been to his house enough times to remember) So I figure if I have to wake him up, I’ll do it with a nice fresh pot of coffee and breakfast. There’s aspirin on the window sill above the sink. I pop two in my mouth and swallow, setting the bottle on the counter, then start the coffee brewing.

I’ll admit, there is no better smell to wake up to than the smell of dark roast coffee to a caffeine addict. My mouth starts watering at that smell. That, and the smell of a lit cigarette, will wake you right the fuck up. The second that coffee starts gurgling in the pot and I light up, smoke wafting through the air, I hear Mack shifting around on the couch in the living room. I take a few drags, then set the cigarette in the ashtray so I can snoop around in the fridge.

Now, when I cook? Man, I don’t just cook, I mean I _really_ cook. My grandma taught me how, and made sure to teach me to use my most valuable asset in the kitchen, my sense of smell. If it smells good, well, it might just taste good too. And I like to experiment. I’m like a mad scientist above that stove. So I’m not just pulling out eggs and cracking them open, I’m pulling out ham, cheese, I’m chopping up onions and peppers, potatoes, and whatever else I can find.

You’d think with as much as I cook all day at work I’d be tired of it, but when I’m on my own time? Making something I like? Hell no. This ain’t like slapping some frozen patties on the fryer. No way. I’m all Gordon Ramsay up in this bitch. I _love_ to cook.

And luckily, Mack’s got good food in his kitchen. Really good food. It ain’t all chai tea and wheat grass, know what I’m saying?

As well as he keeps his refrigerator full, because he likes to cook too. I fry the potatoes first, get them nice and sizzling, then whip up the eggs and pour them in the frying pan, and after that I immediately toss in the ham, cheese, onions, peppers and spices, using my trusty nose to go with what smells good. (Tip: you can never go wrong with a little salt and pepper, no matter what you’re cooking on the stove, but don’t be afraid to get creative with shit.)

So as the eggs are cooking and soaking up that fried potato goodness, the cheese is already melting, and the kitchen is starting to smell–dare I say it– _fabulous_. The coffee pot chirps nearby, and I pause to pour a cup. About the time I’ve got everything thrown together in the pan, and I’m ready to flip this bad boy (yes, it’s an omelet, one huge badass motherfucking omelet) I hear Mack coming out of the bathroom and making his way to the kitchen.

I turn to see him shuffling over to the counter and I move to pour him a cup of coffee, setting it in front of him, along with the aspirin as he’s lighting up a cigarette. He grunts his appreciation at the gesture, then rubs his eyes. He’s got his shirt off still, a strand of hair hanging in front of his face, and I’ll tell you something about this man. It’s part of the reason I freaked out back in the first chapter.

Eddie Macintosh is sexy as fuck when he first wakes up.

Looking that good should be illegal.

I take a few drags off my cigarette in the ashtray, then turn back to the stove to flip the eggs in the pan. I’ve got my back turned to him now, folding one half of the omelet over the other, sealing all that culinary magic inside, and I hear footsteps. Mack is crossing the space between us, and comes up behind me. “Damn, that looks good,” He peers over my shoulder, “So does the food.”

I snort at that. Classic. But I guess I’m not that bad looking when I first wake up either.

“Mnh,” he groans as he’s slipping his arms around me from behind, presses against me, and starts kissing my neck.

Hmm, so the one night stand isn’t over yet, huh?

Or… _was_ it just a one night stand?

I won’t lie, I’m kind of nervous right now. Like, I’m sober, and the consequences of my actions are springing to mind. All those thoughts I should’ve had last night (but I didn’t because I was high and drunk as fuck) are suddenly popping in my head. Like, what if Justin randomly shows up to visit his brother? What if Justin finds out about this? What if we fight and I’m kicked out with nowhere to go? Or worse, what if I snap and go off on him and end up in jail?

Man, I don’t want to go to prison, and I don’t want to be that guy. What if Mack…. What if he…

Goddammit, what if I catch feelings for this asshole and I get my heart broken?

I feel how hard he is against me, and the hair on the back of my neck raises.

Fuck he feels so good. And when he touches me? I can’t hide my reaction.

He finds the spot between my neck and my shoulder that gets me hard and bites down gently. It’s doing the trick to turn me on. I sigh and lean into the touch.

But I’ve got to flip these eggs over, so I force myself to do it instead of turning around and dropping to my knees. But I feel him behind me, his groin pressed right up against me, and I might be too hungover to handle straight hard sex, but all these slow and lazy kisses on my shoulder tell me there’s a possibility of some nice slow and lazy sex in about five minutes. The food is done, so I turn off the stove burner and set down the spatula.

“Mmm, whatdya say we have breakfast in bed, and _then_ eat?” Mack asks me.

“Nh, the food will get cold,” I tell him.

“That’s what a microwave’s for,” he reminds me. I have no counter argument to that, and I bite my lip… Then he bites my ear. Not hard, but just nips at it, and it makes me shiver. Soon, he starts sucking on my earlobe. Apparently that shit’s my kryptonite, and he exploits it like crazy as his hand slides down my abdomen, fingers ghosting the hair dusting my skin, before he slips his hand in my pants.

I don’t know how he does it, but everywhere, and every way he touches me, it feels good. Maybe I’ve just been touch starved, because Justin never pays this much attention to me, unless he wants something. Not that Mack doesn’t have expectations, but for some reason this feels… different. I don’t know why. I grip the handle of the oven door, tightly, when he loosens my belt and unbuttons my jeans so he can get his hand around the shaft of my dick and slowly jerk me.

My knees feel like they’re going to buckle. He moves slowly, but his grip is strong, and with his other hand he’s massaging my chest, and still sucking on my ear, and then my neck. “Fuck,” I exhale.

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” he smarts, and I huff at that. I hear him chuckle.

And oh man do I want to right now. When he lets out that low, breathy chuckle right in my ear, I can’t even describe what that does to me. It’s like that evil, sadistic little laugh he had the night before, and my body remembers it too. Aspirin kicked in a little bit ago, so my headache’s gone, and though I’m feeling sluggish, and hungry, Mack’s working me over with those magic fucking hands of his and my head falls back on his shoulder.

I can’t help but whine a little when he removes his hand, but he swivels me around in that spot and now I’m facing him, and he’s kissing me. The kisses are slow too. His tongue is still darting into my mouth, and reaching the back of my throat, but every thrust seems more calculated and exact, and I lose my mind. This man is officially trying to kill me, I’m convinced. But what a way to die though. I mean, damn.

He tastes like cigarettes and coffee, faintly of toothpaste. I probably taste horrible, but he doesn’t seem to care. He moans in my mouth regardless. He pulls away abruptly, grabs me by the hand, and leads me away from the stove. I follow him out of the kitchen, all the way to the back of the trailer, to his bedroom. I’m tangled in knots for that ten seconds it takes us to get there, heart pumping like crazy in my chest.

But I don’t have time to think about what I’m doing. We get to the bedroom and he strips me down in between kissing me. Then he strips all the way down, and I catch sight of that magnificent fucking dick of his before he’s kissing me again and nudging me toward the bed. I let him lay me down on it, and he gets us under the covers. He rests between my legs and I feel that hard dick lay against mine, and I can’t help but grind against it, hearing him groan his approval.

His mouth leaves mine and starts trailing down my neck. I was right, he moves slow, but not quite lazily though. He’s not rough, but still adamant. And as he’s touching me I can’t help but touch him, I mean, have you seen him? The dude should be on the cover of a fucking mag or something. And I know I shouldn’t be thinking about Justin at a time like this because that’s just bad form, but… dude, Justin is way too soft, but this guy?

Mmm, hard, in all the right places, most importantly, that huge dick I want to get fucked with so badly.

Again, so sorry to leave you hanging, but hey, you’re not going anywhere, right?

Because you and I both know this ain’t over yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	8. Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It would be different if it was just a quick fuck in Smoke’s bathroom, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even just ‘drink, fuck, drink some more, fuck some more’ either. I think it was more than that, actually._
> 
> _And now, whether I want it to be or not, shit’s fucking complicated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: [“Love-Hate-Sex-Pain”–Godsmack ](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=A9YJv8mq1kM&feature=share)
> 
> Guess what guys! The author drew a picture of me! Wanna see what my dumb ass looks like? Well, [here the fuck I am ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1c8c01e5bc9e83c63ed159c80c178533/tumblr_pq2e3wHEyQ1wxyd86_640.pnj).

So, where were we?

Ah yes.

The continuing affair.

Because apparently last night was only the appetizer, and now I’m getting the main course of the meal.

We should be talking about this, hashing shit out, figuring out what all of this means, but talking is pure theory at the moment, as all my blood is rushing to my dick. We’re in his bed, Mack is on me, and everywhere he touches, kisses, bites, lights me up like a fucking Christmas tree. He slowly slides down, closer and closer to my groin, and before I'm fully aware of what's happening, his mouth is on my dick and goddamn. It takes everything in me to stay still at the feeling of that hot, wet tongue on my shaft.

Okay, so you know how I mentioned in an earlier chapter that Justin is pretty good at giving head? Well, let me tell you, the dude should take some pointers from his big brother, because this shit? This shit right the fuck here? This shit feels fucking _amazing_ , and I can't even process right now. I don't want to think at all while he's going down on me, and all I can wrap my head around his how good it feels with his lips wrapped around my dick.

To be honest, I never pictured Mack would be into this. But who am I kidding, right? I never pictured _any_ of this. Not like as a reality or anything. Always just hidden away in my fucked up fantasies. Mack was close to the _last_ person I ever suspected of secretly being gay. (Andy would be the _very_ last) But getting back to my point, I'm fucking ecstatic with Mack going down on me, eyes rolling to the back of my head, until his pops up to slick one of his fingers and press it inside me.

I didn't realize before now that I would be so sore after last night, though I should've guessed, because he fucked me _hard_ , and while I was okay with the pain last night (because it was such a huge turn-on) I'm suddenly not okay with it now that I'm 100% sober. I wince at his touch, and hiss a little, which causes him to back off. "Sorry," he says. Which is stupidly sweet of him to apologize, and I almost want to laugh. Way different guy than what I got last night, am I right?

But I’m okay with it. I don’t want that guy right now. Because right now I’m way too interested in discovering this one. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Just… maybe go easy on me this time?”

“You got it, baby,” he immediately agrees, and then dips his head again to kiss my thigh. Then goes back down on me. He’s slower, and he’s more careful this time. He mostly just teases me at first while he’s going down on me, just circling around the outside but not actually penetrating. But it gets me going, has me whining a little and pushing against the resistance, thrusting into his mouth. He moans around my dick and it’s just fucking bliss.

He pulls away just long enough to dig through the drawer of his nightstand for a bottle of lube, and I know this time around, he’s going to take his sweet, sweet time with me. I’m starting to think that last night was just blowing off some steam, just kind of like suddenly (and violently) wiping clean the fog from the glass between us for the last ten years, but right now is something else. Something that I don’t quite have the words for at this juncture. Something I’m not sure I want to put a label on.

Not even sure that I want.

Something… _complicated_.

He’s generous with the lube, pouring it on his hand and on me. Kinda messy with it, but it makes me smile. I like it messy. I like sloppy, dirty, sweaty and kinky. I’m not like Justin (Who’s a total neat freak) and I bite my lip when I see those slick wet fingers. My face feels hot (I’m probably blushing like a virgin) and I gasp a little when he pushes one of those fingers inside me. It’s a lot less intolerably painful and more of a pleasurable kind of pain now, the way he slowly opens me back up.

He doesn’t have to go through all this trouble. Like, I would be fine if he just took it slow, but he _wants_ to do this. So I kinda want to let him. Obviously pain and suffering is not the goal this time around, and Mack just wants to make me feel good. Oh and it does. It feels so good. I feel so high right now. His middle finger finds my prostate and he doesn’t let off that shit. He prods it for a minute before he slides all the way out and back in.

And the sight of him above me is a sight I would never wish to unsee. Like, this will be seared permanently into my brain for all the rest of my days. As I’ve mentioned, I’m not really one for missionary sex, but it’s a helluva lot different being on bottom and looking up at a guy I’m actually attracted to. He adds another finger, stretches me wider, and now I’m trembling with a mix of pleasure and anticipation. Man I wanna fuck so bad, thrusting my hips to match every thrust of his hand.

He takes his time, eventually slipping in a third finger, stretching me a little beyond my initial capacity, but he’s careful enough that he doesn’t hurt me in the process.

I don’t know, but I’m kind of liking this alternate version of Mack right now.

But of course, a little bit of that guy from last night is still hanging around (Because this is Mack we’re talking about here) so he’s gotta torture me a little still. Oh and it’s the best kind of torture. He sucks on the head of my dick while one hand is jerking the shaft and the other mercilessly fucks me, and I could probably come like this. I’m whining and whimpering like a puppy left out in the cold, and finally I just can’t take it anymore so I say, “Mack, baby, please fuck me. _Please_.”

He moans, shooting yet another jolt of pleasure through me, before his head pops up and he says, “Goddamn, I love hearin’ you beg for it.”

Not as much as I love the way he makes me. I mean, holy fuck.

He removes his hand, and part of me misses it, but not too much considering he’s now shuffling through his nightstand again for a condom. When he finds one, I sit up and snatch it out of his hand because I want to do the honor. He snorts a little.

He watches me rip open the packaging with this hungry look, and when I get it out and slip it on him, his eyes flutter closed. I’m kind of getting off on the face he’s making as I slide my hand over his shaft, making sure the condom is on properly. I want to kiss that face. So I do. His eyes open as I’m slipping my other hand around his neck to pull him closer. He lets me pull him down on top of me, half making out as I grip his shaft and guide him in.

And goddamn there is simply no replicating this feeling. He pushes in slow, inches at a time, then groans when he’s all the way inside and my ass reflexively clenches tight over his dick. Perk of being suckered into topping for so long, I know how good that feels. I let out a half squeak half moan sort of noise (I don’t really know how to describe it, but it’s kind of a girl sound, I guess?) when he starts fucking me and matches the rhythm with his tongue down my throat.

He’s not rough or anything, but he grabs my hands with his, lacing our fingers together and pins me to the mattress. I am still very clearly dominated, and once more it’s hitting that part of my brain that wants to be. I don’t have the energy to push his buttons, to fight or struggle in any way, so I just let go, let him assume control, and I have to say I’m fairly content with that at the moment. Since the start of this, there’s just been something about Mack that tells me this is exactly what I want.

More specifically, _who_ I want.

Like, I want _all_ parts of it. He picks up pace a little, starts fucking me just a little harder, and once more I start feeling like I’m close. But part of me still wants to feel what I felt last night. That feeling of complete helplessness, that total loss of control, and I’m not quite there yet. Mack feels amazing, he fills me up fucking perfect, he’s stifling hot and burns me up like a matchstick, and the _sounds_ he makes… But there’s just one more thing I need right now. I need a little of what I got, briefly, last night.

“Choke me,” I tell him, breaking the kiss.

“What?”

“Choke me.”

“Goddamn.”

He says that like I just spoke the magic words, and hot damn this really is some kind of heaven if he wants to choke me out too. He lets go of me just long enough to prop himself up with one hand and as soon as the other snakes around my throat and squeezes it, I’m there. I’m so there. I feel my orgasm starting to build. He doesn’t squeeze hard enough of to cut off my air, so I can still breathe, but barely. I reach back with one hand and brace myself against the wall. The other wraps around his wrist.

Not like I’m going to stop him, but more like I’m _keeping_ him there.

The more I squeeze his wrist, the tighter his hand gets around my throat, and goddamn.

And the sight of him above me, facial expression a mix of passion and anger…

Then he fucks me harder…

…faster…

…deeper…

My eyes roll back when I come, and I’m seeing stars. For just a second or two I feel him squeeze too tightly, cutting off my air completely and my eyes snap open wide. My heart, which was previously pounding its way through a frighteningly intense orgasm, is now pounding in actual fear. For a split second I’m genuinely afraid of this guy choking me to death, but I don’t have time to react to it because he’s already coming, and already loosening his hold on me, thrusts slowing and eventually stopping.

And this is different too. Seeing his face when he comes. I’ve never imagined this before, but I’m pretty sure it’s better than anything I could’ve conjured mentally.

He looks like he’s in pain, like it was that intense that it fucking hurt.

That? That is beautiful, is what that is.

We’re both out of breath now, shaking a little, and we share a look. A mix of relief–because we just came–and a little bit of confusion, maybe some bewilderment. Like he’s just as shocked as I am that we’re both into this shit. He’s still throbbing inside me and I’m still pretty sensitive, so when he makes one last halfhearted thrust, the movement sends a shock straight through my system and I lose my breath again, head jerking upward.

He settles down on top of me, holding himself up with his elbows, forehead resting on mine, we close our eyes, and we just stay like that for a moment, our breath mingling, the space between us unbearably hot. I run my hands up and down his back, feel how much he’s sweating. Feel his muscles flexing under my touch. “Raven,” I hear him exhale, and I open my eyes. So does he. I cock my head a little in confusion. “That’s your safeword,” he says. “Raven.”

“Why?” I chuckle.

“’Cause you said you liked Edgar Allen Poe. So it fits.”

I crack up at that, shaking my head in disbelief. He laughs a little too. Of course every slight movement has my breath catching in my throat still, because he’s still twitching inside me. I thought he was too drunk to remember I admitted that shit, which has me blushing again in embarrassment, but apparently Mack holds his liquor quite well. “Well, how do you know I wouldn’t scream that on purpose during sex just ‘cause I’m that into poetry and shit?” I ask, and he snorts.

“For some reason, that don’t surprise me.”

I grin. “You’d like it.”

He laughs. “I’ll think of somethin’ else then,” he says, then grunts as he finally pries himself off me and pulls out.

“Neh, I like ‘raven’, actually,” I say, as I melt into the bed and practically fuse with the material.

I would never say it though. I’m just that fucked up. But I have this feeling that if I were to continue fucking around with Mack, he would do everything in his power to push me far enough to use the safeword, and I would do everything in my power to resist at all costs. And I like that. I’m already getting mental images of Mack seeing just how far he’d have to push me, to see what it would take. Breaking me physically and mentally, over and over, testing my boundaries, finding my limits.

I start to get hard again, just a little, at that thought, but I’m exhausted.

Out of curiosity I ask, “So what would I do if you’ve got your hand around my throat and I couldn’t say ‘raven’?”

He shrugs. “Hand signals,” he says, like it’s that easy, like he already thought this through, and I laugh a little. He grins again. It’s fucking sexy as hell. “You gotta work today?” he asks, as he’s tossing me something to clean up with because I’m covered in cum still.

“Yeah, at one,” I tell him, and inwardly I tense up again.

That question was a reminder of all the shit that’s waiting for me when I leave. A reminder that this is just a short interlude before all the drama that’s going to come after. It’s not like I’m mad at him for asking that, and it’s just a question, but I’m a tad bit resentful of that. Not Mack, I’m not resentful of Mack, just the situation. But I really don’t have to think about that right this second, do I? So I busy myself with cleaning up and dressing, as does Mack. Then we shuffle our feet to the kitchen.

Mack and I wash up at the sink before reheating breakfast, which is definitely cold by now, so I divide the omelet in half and pop the plates in the microwave one at time while Mack pours a fresh cup of coffee. We’re both quiet throughout, like there’s not really much that needs to be said. Like maybe Mack’s also afraid that if he talks it’ll break the spell we’re under. At the moment, it’s like everything fits, like this is normal, like how it’s supposed to be, and everything’s fine. But if we talk…

We settle down beside each other on the couch with our coffee mugs and plates, and Mack flips on the tv. He scrolls through Pay-Per-View, half consciously taking a bite, then I hear his fork clatter on the plate. I glance over. He’s shell-shocked. “Goddamn, where the hell have you been my entire life?” he asks. I snicker at that. Obviously someone approves of my cooking. “Alright, that’s it. You’re movin’ in with me,” he says, like there is no room for argument.

I laugh. I have no choice but to laugh, because my heart is racing at those words, and I want that. Like, I can honestly picture a future with Mack if I allow myself to. But I can’t have that, so I force myself to act like he’s joking, bump his shoulder with mine, and say, “Just think of how good it would’ve tasted right after I made it, when it was still fresh, hot off the skillet.”

He tastes another bite, chews, swallows, then says, “I don’t know. I’m kinda likin’ the reason it got cold.”

Me too. I can’t wipe the smile off my face the whole time we eat. Mack selects a UFC fight from the list and puts it on. With the exception of the tv playing, it’s total silence for a while. After we finish breakfast though, it gets weird. Not in a bad way, but it’s strange, because Mack pushes the plates out of the way, throws his feet up on the coffee table then…puts his arm around me. Pulls me closer, and I let him, settle into his side, but the whole time my heart is racing. Like, this doesn’t happen.

But here we are, watching a fight, screaming at the tv, cheering our guy, cursing the other guy when he sneak in a fucking upper cut, which is the usual, but we’re also cuddling. Like, holy shit. Part of me feels right at home, like this is what I’ve been missing in my life all these years. Like it couldn’t possibly get any better than this. But then there’s another part of my brain screaming, “Run!” The part of my brain that’s scared of getting attached, the part of me that’s convinced it would never work out.

The Lenny inside me that _knows_ this is a bad idea. The part of me that really isn’t used to getting what he wants, because he never does, and knows that just when everything seems like it’s going great, that’s usually the part where everything turns shit fucking sideways in the worst way. But this feels good. Like, Mack is not trying to make a statement here. He’s not touching me because he wants to claim me, because he wants to prove a point. But just because he _wants_ to.

And that’s the part that scares me.

But we’ve got enough time to watch the outcome of the fight before I have to leave. When the fight’s over, Mack turns the tv off, sighs, pulls me just a bit closer for a minute and kisses the side of my head. Because he knows this is goodbye. Like, this probably won’t ever happen again. Or maybe it’s just a normal kiss goodbye, kind of like saying, “I’ll see you tonight, babe.” Or maybe it’s not a kiss goodbye, and just a kiss. I don’t know. I’m not a very good judge of different types of affection.

And I’m definitely not used to Mack being affectionate either. The most we’ve ever done was bump fists, maybe bro hug, you know the one where you half-hug them with one arm and make sure there is ample personal space between you and the other guy because touching other guys is weird? And he’s ruffled my hair in an annoying brother kind of way, but this? I don’t know how to handle this. But we snap out of the moment, back to reality, Mack takes the dishes to the kitchen, and I look for my phone.

We both procrastinate. Mack has always been that way really. Whereas Justin frantically rushes even though there’s no logical reason to be in a hurry, Mack is pretty much the exact opposite. So this is typical for him, but me, I’m not really in a hurry either so I take extra long finding all my clothes, slipping my wallet in my back pocket, and checking my phone for missed calls or texts, just as Mack does. Not a single missed call or text from Justin. But then again, why would he call me?

Why would he even be concerned? He knows I went to Smoke’s to get drunk, knows that I don’t drive under the influence which is why I let him take my car, because I was planning on being out all night, and whenever he goes to Sam’s he pretty much forgets I even exist anyway. When I go to pick him up, I usually have to call three or four times before he even picks up the phone, to let him know I’m outside waiting. Like, I’m last on the priority list. Not that I wanted him to call, but…okay, maybe I did.

Maybe a small part of me wants Justin to care.

* * *

It’s a quiet ride in Mack’s truck. He’s got the radio on, tuned to a rock station. Same one I listen to, both in my car and at work. (We only pick up that one station, so…) I quietly mouth the lyrics while I listen, smoke my cigarette, and brainstorm on how to deal with Justin when the time comes. I know I’m not going to tell him I fucked his brother, but I’ve got to tell him something. I’ve got to end this. What happened last night was my indication that it’s over between me and Justin. And it needs to be.

Mack pulls into the parking lot of the apartment complex, in the space right next to my car (Which means Justin is already home, waiting for me) kills the engine, and every muscle in my body tenses for the fight that’s coming. I’m too exhausted to be all that stressed, so it’s not like I’m twitching, and I’m more depressed than anything else. But I’m dreading it. This is the end. It has to be. Because the part of me that cares about Justin is telling me I need to do this.

And my conscience is saying, “He deserves better than you, Lenny.”

My conscience makes a good point.

I take a deep breath, and beside me Mack sighs.

“So what are you gonna tell him?” he asks, curiously, and I glance at him. His expression is fairly neutral, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. I shrug a little, absently playing with the gauge in my ear.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit. He nods a little.

“Alright,” he says. He stares for a minute. I have no idea what to say. But then he says, “I meant what I said, Len. If you need a place to stay...”

A lump somehow lodges itself in my throat at that. I swallow it down.

“I know,” I mumble, looking away.

But I can’t stay with him. I can’t ruin shit between Justin and Mack, and I know that I would. I don’t want to hurt Justin anymore than I already have, and…I don’t want to hurt Mack either. He doesn’t say anything when I pull on the door handle. Doesn’t touch me either. Doesn’t reach for my hand, or pull me in for a kiss. My neighbors are probably peering out their windows and watching this shit because a truck that doesn’t belong to any of the tenants is parked, and people can’t mind their own business.

“I’ll catch you later, man,” I tell Mack as I’m opening the door.

“Yep,” he nods. When I’m out of the truck I watch him start it up and pull away, heart pounding frantically in my chest. Once he’s gone I turn my gaze to the set of steps leading up to my front door, and heave a sigh. I knows it’s wrong, but part of me wants to just forget this shit ever happened, but I can’t. It would be different if it was just a quick fuck in Smoke’s bathroom, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even just ‘drink, fuck, drink some more, fuck some more’ either. I think it was more than that, actually.

And now, whether I want it to be or not, shit’s fucking complicated.

Yeah, I’m fucked.

I snuff out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe, fish for my keys, and shuffle to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	9. Necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With a sniff, he reaches in his pocket for my keys and plops them into my hand. And I think to myself, ‘This is it.’ I will never have to do this again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: ["Just Like You"–Three Days Grace ](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=MIEebIYrmfE&feature=share)

I fiddle with my house key, mostly just to delay the inevitable.

I think about what I’m going to say.

I don’t know what I’m going to say.

I kind of space for a second, mentally scrolling through the last eight years of my life, from start to finish, from the beginning of what is now the end, and I hesitate. I mean, fuck. Eight years, man. I’ve been with this dude for eight fucking years. (Where did the time go?) And miraculously, through all the fights and the drama, we’ve somehow managed to stay together, through the best and worst of times.

Times like when my grandma got sick, was in and out of the hospital, until she just couldn’t fight it anymore, was hospitalized one final time and didn’t make it through that night.

I wouldn’t say that Justin was particularly helpful during that time of my life–he was just kind of hanging in the background, involved in his own things, while I was in and out of the hospital with her, spending as much time together while we still could–but he understood what I was going through because him and Mack lost their dad, and he stayed with me after the funeral so I wasn’t in that trailer all by myself.

I wouldn’t call it love. I mean, people that are in love fight too, right? But people that love each other fight because that’s just what people do, but in the end they still want to be together. That’s why they make up. But people that are in love don’t spend every waking minute trying to get away from someone. They don’t hatch escape plans, they don’t sit and picture a future without that person in it.

And they don’t fuck other people.

I don’t know much about love, but I know it ain’t like this.

So no, I wouldn’t call this love, but…

Damn. We’ve been together so long, I almost can’t remember my life before Justin. Wait, scratch that, I can. It sucked even before Justin, and the only good thing in my life was my grandma. But all I’m saying is we’ve been together for too fucking long. I know it’s not much to people that have been together for like 40+ or even 20+ years, but to a twenty-eight year old who’s only serious relationship has been this shit right here, that’s a long time.

I start getting nervous as I’m standing in front of the door. Like, I really don’t know where I’m going to go. I can’t stay with Mack, and I don’t know anyone else that’s got room for me right now. I can count my friends on one hand, and you’ve met them all. I guess I could crash on Smoke’s recliner for a few days, or if there’s no other option I could sleep in my car, but I can’t afford my own place. I can barely afford the life I’m living right now.

And then the part of me that cares about Justin also wonders what will happen to him.

He can’t afford this apartment without me. We’ve been splitting the cost of rent and utilities because Justin’s job doesn’t pay much better than mine. He works in customer service, so he’s got a nice cushy little job sitting in a cubicle all day, in a padded chair, listening to customers bitch about their products 40 hours a week, but it’s only like eight bucks an hour, and with our cost of living, we struggle enough as it is to make ends meet.

Plus if I leave, I’ll be taking my Pontiac, and Justin will have to bum rides off coworkers to get around. Or give Sam’s mom gas money, which will drain his wallet even faster. And how could he possibly afford rent, utilities, food, gas, car payments and insurance if he gets his own car, and everything else all by himself with his shitty job? Plus his health food is fucking expensive. His new ‘healthy lifestyle’ is why we’re fucking broke right now.

I know as soon as I leave Sam would move in with him, but the bitch ain’t even got a job, which is why she’s living with her mom still. These are some of the reasons why I’ve stuck around for so long. Because this is my every day. This is what runs through my mind every time I think about packing my shit and ducking out while Justin’s at work. (I’ve never made a plan of leaving in Justin’s presence because that’s just asking for a fight.)

But this time it’s different, because I’m not just leaving because I want to, but because I have to. I’ve done enough damage as it is. I don’t regret fucking Mack, I can’t even begin to feel sorry about that, but I do regret that I let things go this far. I’ve never been unfaithful before, and I honestly never thought I would ever do that (Because that shit’s just wrong, know what I’m saying?) but like I said, this was my last straw.

Last night was the fucking icing on the shit cake.

Justin and I have been steadily growing further and further apart, like coming out to his family was not what caused this. There were problems way before that. This is not some sudden cry for help. This is me killing a wounded animal that’s been dying for a while, finally putting it out of its misery. I mean, I don’t think this relationship should’ve ever happened in the first place, but I didn’t want to be alone.

What were the odds of me ever finding another guy in this shitty little hick town in the middle of fucking nowhere, where everybody’s a God-fearing Christian and nobody wants a fag living next door? (Okay, as I ask that, yes I do realize that Mack has been staring me in the face this whole time, but shut the fuck up, man, I didn’t know this shit.) And everybody I’ve ever attempted to love has died on me. I’ve got serious issues with that shit.

I don’t want to do this. My hands start shaking as I’m standing in front of the door, because I _don’t_ want to do this.

But I _have_ to.

And maybe I can. Like, as long as Justin never finds out about me and his brother, he’d probably stay with Mack if he had to. And I can just fuck off, I guess.

Okay, so… _now_ what’s my excuse for staying?

Yeah, see, that’s what I was thinking too.

I take deep calming breaths, counting backwards from ten, before I finally unlock the door and push it open. I half expect Justin to immediately be on me, barking some condescending shit, but he isn’t. I close the door quietly behind me when I hear him on the phone with someone in the bedroom. “…Oh I know, me too,” he says in that flirty girl voice of his. “Like, I literally can’t believe I did that,” he giggles. Sighs. Then, “Awe, I miss you too, babe.”

Sam, I’m guessing. Like holy shit, dude. For real, he was just at her house last night, and now he’s going to be on the phone with her all day too? Whatever. “Babe!” I call.

I vaguely hear him mumble, “Oh, he’s home. I gotta go,” before Justin hangs up and bursts into the living room, saying, “Where the _fuck_ have you been?!”

I gape at him. “Why? What happened?”

“What do you mean ‘what happened’?” he snaps. “I thought you would be home _hours_ ago!”

And there it is. The fight I’ve been expecting. As exhausted as I am my stress level still shoots through the roof at that tone of voice, and my fists clench tightly at my sides. But I try to be calm, take a deep breath, because I know if I say the wrong thing this will turn out way worse than what I intended. “I had to wait on my ride,” I tell him, which is not a complete lie. He starts sniffing the air, scrunching up his face.

“Oh my fucking GOD you stink!” he says, and for a moment I think, ‘Shit, he smells sex on me, doesn’t he?’ But then he says, “You were smoking pot again, weren’t you?”

I roll my eyes. “What the fuck ever,” I mumble, because we’ve had this argument before, like a million times. “I gotta get ready for work.”

I brush past him and head down the hallway. “Lenny. Lenny!” he calls after me, but I ignore him, because it’s better than the alternative, which is snap and scream at him, which will be followed up by more bitching, until I finally just agree with him or walk away. And then even if I walk away from him, he’ll follow me, he’ll get in my face, bitch and bitch and bitch, until I go off and break something, rather than hit him.

And then I’m still in the wrong. Either way, I’m the asshole.

Because in this house, it’s _Justin’s_ way, or no way at all.

Like, he’s so fucking relentless it’s unreal.

And he really has no handle on how to deal with people like me with anger issues. Like, my anger management councilor (That I was required to see when I got out of lock-up) always told me that the best way to deal with stress, when there was no alternative, is to walk away. Go, physically remove yourself from the argument, take some time to cool off, and come back later when you’re calm. But Justin won’t let me do that.

He has no respect for my boundaries, obviously. Even though I try my best to respect his, always listen to him when he wants to talk, always give him space when he needs it, he doesn’t do that for me. I lock the bathroom door because I know he’ll barge in on me and put some music on my phone before stripping down and turning on the faucet. He bangs on the door. “Lenny! Don’t you _dare_ ignore me! I _know_ you can hear me!”

“Goddamn it, Justin! Just let me fucking shower!” I scream. I hear him growl, frustrated, and stomp away. I’m shaking. My heart is pounding in my ears. Images flash in front of my face of bursting through the door, running buck naked out of the bathroom, tackling Justin to the floor, and smashing his face in. I want to, so bad. I grip the faucet tightly for a moment, squeeze my eyes shut and count. _10…9…8…7…_

Once I don’t hear him anymore, and the only sound is the sound of Corey Taylor singing “Imperfect” and running water, I exhale. I listen to the lyrics. They fit this moment. It was an accident, just the next song in queue on my playlist, but… Goddamn. It hits a part of my brain that causes my anger to drop off and suddenly I feel tired. Like I’m about to pass out and I have to lean on the wall in the shower while I wash off.

I close my eyes.

I can still feel Mack’s arms around me.

And I still hear his words in my head.

_‘He ain’t right for you, Len.’_

I don’t know what to do, but I know that I can’t do this to myself anymore.

I open my eyes.

After I’ve showered and shaved, then found my work uniform in the closet, dress, and check to make sure I have my wallet, phone, cigarettes, and my name tag, I go to the living room. Justin still has my car keys. So I couldn’t leave without confronting him even if I wanted to. But I have to. He’s there, sitting on the couch, looking significantly less pissed than previously, but still irritated. He stands up. “We need to talk.”

Yeah we fucking do. “Talk,” I say, gesturing for him to proceed, because now I’m calm enough to listen to what he has to say. In fact, just keeping in mind that this is over and that I don’t have to come back to this, that after this one last argument we’re done, kind of keeps me calm. Like, I know this is it. That no matter what Justin says, it’s over on my end. He purses his lips at me and folds his arms over his chest.

Like he’s my mom, like I’ve been bad, and he’s about to give me the ass chewing of a lifetime.

I probably deserve an ass chewing, but not for what Justin might think I do.

“This behavior has to stop, Lenny,” he says, and I huff a little. “The drinking and the smoking and the staying out all night long, I’ve had enough, it has to end.”

Oh this is bullshit. “What the fuck ever, man,” I sigh. “Like you didn’t stay out at Sam’s all night long anyway.”

“I wasn’t at Sam’s getting high,” he argues. “I can’t be in a relationship with someone like this! It’s like you don’t even think about the consequences!”

“I don’t think about the consequences? Are you fucking kidding me?” I laugh, because this shit is ridiculous. “Name _one_ time I’ve ever gotten behind the wheel of my car when I’ve been drinking. One time I’ve ever been busted for possession, or even paraphernalia. You know I don’t keep shit like that on me, and I can’t get in trouble just for _being_ high, Justin. Oh and while I’m at it, name one time I’ve even gotten a fucking speeding ticket!

One time I lost my license on a DUI! One time I’ve missed a car payment, or car insurance! One time we’ve been behind on the rent or had the electric shut off because I went out and bought beer or weed instead of paying the goddamn bills like a responsible adult! One fucking time I ever stuck a needle in my arm, or fuck for that matter, sniffed a line of cocaine in somebody’s bathroom, Justin!”

Justin flinches when I say that. I touched a nerve, and I know I did, because he told me what Mack said about his mom doing coke in a bathroom with their dad. That was actually how they conceived Justin. He knocked her up that night. That was the reason Linda and Eddie Sr. got married, because she was seventeen and pregnant, and her parents pushed that shit on him. So yeah, I hit a nerve. I did it on purpose.

“Name one time I’ve fucked up,” I dare him. “But you can’t, can you?”

Because he doesn’t know what I did last night.

I know, I know, shut the fuck up, Lenny. Don’t dig your own grave.

His lip trembles a little, but he huffs, saying, “You think that just because you never get in trouble that you’re not hurting anybody?” he asks me, still trying to take the high road. Still trying to be right on this. He can’t handle being wrong about something, so instead of just admitting I’m right, he says, “Do you honestly think those people you party with even care about you? Smoke? Andy? Any of them?”

“Oh I know they do,” I tell him. “That’s why they don’t shove coke in my face! And I’m not a fucking idiot! You wanna bitch just because I smoke a joint or have a beer every once in a while? Or is this just because I’m not rollin’ over for you, being your perfect guy, and doing whatever _you_ want me to do? Like, do you _actually_ give a shit? Or are you just pissed because you’re not getting your way?”

I dare him to answer that honestly.

He steps closer, and says, “I _do_ care. You really think those people are actually your friends, Lenny? They’re not! They’re just a bunch of drunks and fucking potheads!”

“Yeah like Sam is so much better. That fake ass little bitch? All you do is bitch about her when she’s not around, sayin’ how she just uses you for money and rides and shit when her mom won’t let her borrow her car! But then you act all nice in front of her face and shit! So that’s what friendship’s all about? Being fucking two-faced to each other and talking shit behind everybody’s back?”

“Oh my fucking god, Lenny! That’s not even–like–Sam has nothing to do with–” He huffs again. He’s running out of steam and grasping at straws. But then he makes this face like he just hit the jackpot, and he straightens. “Okay, fine!” he chirps. “It’s like that then. So you’re friends are so much better than mine? Yeah, well, how do think they would react if they found out you’re _gay_? Hmm? You really want friends like _that_?”

My jaw flexes a little. Now Justin hit a nerve. And he did it on purpose too. He knows that’s my biggest fear right now, that once everyone finds out I like guys, nobody will want me around. But I’ve still got ammo.

“You were scared of that same shit when you told your mom and Mack that you’re gay,” I remind him. “You honestly thought they would never speak to you again, which was why you waited so fucking long to tell ‘em.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “But you did it anyway,” I shrug. “I won’t lie, that was some brave fucking shit you did, but that’s _you_ , that’s not me. That’s what _you_ want. That’s not what I want.

You wanna go on with all your gay pride shit, I ain’t gonna stop you, but that’s just _not_ who I am. This is _not_ who I’m pretending to be. I don’t party just so people think I’m straight. You knew what I was about when we met, and I’ll be this way ‘til the day I fucking die. So maybe it’s time for you to decide if I’m really the kind of guy you want. Because I’m done lettin’ you try to make me somethin’ I’m not. Now gimme my goddamn keys so I can go to work.”

There’s a long fucking pause after I say that.

I hold out my hand, and I see Justin tearing up a little. A small part of me wants to immediately sweep Justin into my arms, hold him tight and tell him I’m sorry, beg for forgiveness, and swear that I’ll change, because I hate seeing him cry. He knows that too. But I resist. It fucking sucks, but I know I’ve got to be the bad guy here. I’ve got to own that shit. Like, wear it proudly on my chest like a super villain emblem. I’ve _got_ to do this.

With a sniff, he reaches in his pocket for my keys and plops them into my hand. And I think to myself, ‘This is it.’ I will never have to do this again. And when I come back after work, I’ll find all my stuff in garbage bags on the porch, waiting for me. Maybe with a little note or something attached to them, saying, ‘Fuck you, asshole.’ But he’ll thank me in the long run. Because now he’s free to move on, to find someone better than me.

And he won’t even have to feel guilty about it either. I know it’s wrong to leave him like this, but considering all the alternatives, this was probably the best way I could’ve done it. It wasn’t violent, neither of us got physically hurt, nothing got broken, and maybe one day we can even go back to being friends. I spin my keys around my finger and turn to leave, without saying a word. Justin doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t say anything either.

And as I’m walking to my car, I feel… _relieved_.

I’m tired still, and a little bit stressed, because I know my troubles aren’t over just because I finally told Justin off. Like, I need to think about what’s ahead of me. Most immediately, I need to get my head out of my ass and focus on work, because I don’t want to fuck up somebody’s order. When I pull up in the parking lot and park in one of the spaces reserved for employees, I’m already putting my argument with Justin in the back of my mind.

Compartmentalizing my thoughts is nothing new for me, it’s what I’ve always done, so it’s pretty easy to just stroll into work acting like nothing happened. I feel pretty good actually. A lot lighter, like a weight has been lifted off me. I know I bitch about it, but I actually like my job. My manager goes to the same church my grandma went to, and that was actually what landed me this job after I graduated. Grandma set it up for me.

Now Mike? Mike helped me out a lot when I lost my grandma. He gave me paid time off to get her affairs in order, pack her things to donate them to the church, helped me sell the trailer. So when I head behind the counter, clock in, then head to the kitchen, I always stop by Mike’s office, poke my head in the door, and say, ‘hi’. There he is, sitting at his desk, on the computer. Still looks the same, with his parted hair and wire rimmed glasses.

“What’s goin’ on, man,” I greet with a smile, and he smiles back.

“Hey, how’s it goin’, buddy,” he says. He still calls me ‘buddy’, even though I’m not a kid anymore, but I don’t mind. I’m always respectful too, when I go to work. Like, I’m still me, and Mike knows that I smoke cigarettes and drink beer every now and then, that I stopped going to church and I’m covered in tattoos, but I don’t cuss at work. I’m always on time, I never miss a day unless I absolutely have to, and I joke, but I keep that shit family friendly.

I zone out for a while. I keep my mind on my work. Keep the burgers coming. The only thing I think about is my next cigarette break. Mike’s got the classic rock radio on, it’s a 70s marathon, so I’m bobbing my head to all the greats like Queen, The Beatles, The Doors, Rolling Stones, all those guys. I get along with everybody I work with, and I’m cracking up when Lisa starts singing along with all the songs, while she wraps the sandwiches I make.

But a few hours into my shift, Mike calls for me. “Lenny!”

“Yeah!”

“Your roommate’s here!”

Fuck.

It’s slow at the moment, so Mike comes over to the grill to take over for me so I can talk to Justin. “Be back in ten,” he tells me and I nod. I’ll be back in five. When I get out front, Justin is there, standing by the counter, kind of off to the side, and he looks nervous. I walk past him and out the side door, waving for him to follow. We get outside, and I light a cigarette. Justin stands there, arms folded, and watches me.

I see Sam’s mom’s car across the parking lot. Sam is in the driver’s seat. I somehow manage to keep from rolling my eyes, and ask, “What do you want?” Neutrally, like I’m not pissed or anything, and I’m guessing that this is the part where Justin tells me to move out. Or tells me he’s moving out, and I’ll have to find a new ‘roommate’. He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to declare war on a foreign country.

“I made us an appointment for couples’ counseling,” he says, and I almost drop my cigarette. I blink a few times in shock, mouth hanging slightly open. “Obviously we can’t resolve our communication issues single-handedly, and I think maybe some professional help is what we really need right now. I think it might be necessary until we figure out how to resolve this. I honestly think it’s for the best. For both of us.”

What. The. Fuck.

Is he serious right now? _This_ is his decision? To bring in an expert? Okay, when I think about it, it is probably the most logical conclusion to come to. I know from experience that therapy can work wonders, because sometimes all a person needs is someone to open up to, and if we can’t do that with each other, maybe we need someone that gets paid to listen to that shit, right? And then I think, ‘Shit…he really does care about me, doesn’t he?’

Because otherwise why would he go through that kind of effort if he doesn’t want to be with me, right? Just let me believe that for a minute. I mean, obviously he thinks there’s something left of this relationship to salvage if this is his answer. That it’s worth holding onto. Like, holy shit. And the part of my brain that’s been clinging to Justin like a lifeline for the last eight years has me blurting out, “Okay,” with a nod, before I puff on my cigarette.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Okay,” I confirm. “Counseling.”

“Okay. It’s on Wednesday, at 3.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Justin immediately turns and walks back to Sam’s mom’s car, like we’re done, and that’s all he wanted to say. Maybe that’s for the best. I watch Sam screech out of the parking lot and almost hit another car pulling in, praying to whatever god actually does exist and might be listening that Justin’s wearing a seat belt because that dumb bitch can’t drive. Then I finish my cigarette. Like…holy fuck man. After all that, and I’m _still_ with Justin?

Goddammit, what the _fuck_ did I just agree to?

I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?

Don’t answer that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	10. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can’t help it, I think about Mack._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Schism"–Tool](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=tuw1ziytBDk&feature=share)

Justin doesn’t speak to me that night, when I get off work. I come home, and he’s on the couch, with his headphones in his ears. Like, doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. He said to me earlier in a text that he’s going to keep talking to a minimum until we’ve seen a therapist, because he doesn’t feel comfortable with it right now. I’m fine with that. I say nothing and walk back to the bedroom to strip out of my uniform.

I think it’s ironic really, that he’s giving me the silent treatment? Because it’s literally what he does every fucking day. The only time he talks to me is when he’s bitching at me about something I said or did, or feels like bitching about somebody else. And it’s always only ever bitching. He never just says, “Hey babe, how was your day?” Or even anything like, “Hey, I’m glad you’re home. I missed you so much.”

So the only thing that’s different is he’s not bitching at me. Which means I have zero complaint from Justin as I toss my uniform aside, slip on a pair of basketball shorts, and one of my Slipknot t-shirts. Yeah, that’s right, I have every one of their albums in a motherfucking t-shirt. Be jealous, assholes. This one is the cover of their .5: The Gray Chapter album, that Lee bought me for my birthday last year, to complete the collection.

I make myself a sandwich, then flop down on the other side of the couch. Open my laptop, start scrolling through potential online colleges, because that is still a thing, and what Mack told me about doing what I want, not just what I have to, has me considering pursuing a degree in English. I don’t know if poetry is really the route I want to go, but literature of some kind is definitely something I could go for.

Maybe I’ll be the next H.G. Wells, or Edgar Rice Burroughs. Or maybe I’ll just do something mundane like work for the local paper, writing about sports, I don’t know. I could study journalism, but creative writing has always been more my strong suit. I can’t picture myself writing fantasy novels like those ones you find on the discount wrack in your local grocery store, but I’m sure I’ll find my niche eventually.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot Justin peering at my laptop, so fucking curious as to what I’m researching. He looks like he wants to ask about it. Part of me wants him to. Like, I want him to take in interest in what I like for a change, instead of always just his interests, but at the same time, I’m kind of enjoying this little quiet box Justin put himself in. Like, if he speaks, he basically just went against his own terms of agreement of ‘no talking’.

But I see him looking.

I side-glance at him, and he looks away, nose back in his phone like he wasn’t just staring at my laptop screen, and he’s mouthing the lyrics to whatever song he’s listening to while he scrolls through Instagram. I don’t have to see his phone to know that’s what it is. He’s always on it, and if it’s not Instagram, then it’s Facebook, or Tumblr. It’s one of those. I bookmark a couple of sites I want to come back to, then I close my laptop.

I switch to my phone that way Justin would have to be more obvious if he wants to see what I’m doing, or maybe even actually ask, but he doesn’t. Total radio silence from both ends. I’m going out of my mind, trying to think of how I got myself right back where we started in all of this. Like, is therapy really going to fix this? Or am I basically just paying to hear some stranger tell me how much of a piece of shit I am, rather than Justin?

I can’t help it, I think about Mack.

Everything he said to me, everything we did. Hear his voice in my ear still, murmuring, “Wanna come, baby?” Feel his skin on mine, heart pounding in his chest. Our breath mingling as we kiss and he slowly breaks me apart. His laughter. The way he rubs his bottom lip with his thumb when he’s thinking. The way he feels inside me. It fucking drives me crazy, and I can’t get this shit out of my head.

With Justin three fucking feet away from me.

This is so wrong.

Mack has my number, but he hasn’t called or texted me. Not even just to say ‘what’s up’, or ‘what are you doing tonight’. Nothing. He’s not much of a phone person. He only calls people when he has to, and he’s not much for texting either, unlike Justin who stays glued to his phone all day long. He’s got a Facebook page, but he’s never on much there either. I want to call him, text him, something, but I’m not stupid.

That’s like the number one way in which cheaters get caught. By texts, DMs, and emails, man. Leaving traceable evidence of that shit just laying around for somebody to hack. And I’m not dumb enough to give Justin proof to find, and just another bullet for the barrel of his ‘Fuck you, Lenny’ gun. But it’s not like I want to send Mack pictures of my dick. I just want to know how he’s doing. Work my way up to telling him I’m still with his brother.

Brace myself for the verbal shit storm that would follow, because I’m pretty sure Mack’s response would be, ‘What the fuck are you doin’, man. Why didn’t you just leave him? Why don’t you just come stay with me? Goddammit, Len, just dump his ass! You don’t belong with him!’ And then a tiny, hopeful part of my brain finishes that with, ‘You belong with me!’ I start twitching beside Justin, so I get up to go outside and smoke.

I’m not allowed to smoke inside anymore. The landlord doesn’t mind if his tenants smoke in his apartments, but ever since Justin quit six months ago, he’s kind of anal about people smoking around him. I totally get that, and I would probably flip shit if I quit smoking too and smelled a cigarette, so I don’t mind. Justin gets on my case about quitting too. I would, but it’s really the only vice I have left, since I can’t do anything else around Justin either.

No weed, no alcohol, and now he even bitches about shit like soda too, so fuck it. Give me my cancer stick. Justin can eat a dick.

It’s hilarious when we go to Mack’s house though, because Justin can’t stop his brother from lighting up in front of him in his own home.

_Goddammit, Lenny. Stop thinking about his brother!_

So there I am, barefoot on my porch, huffing a cigarette like it’s my last, knee bouncing, gripping my phone tight in hand until my knuckles are white. Fuck. It would be so easy. So easy to just call him up, but I can’t. I told myself I would give this a shot. That I would make this work if I could. That I would not give up on Justin if there’s still hope for us. I know it’s wrong of me to just shove an eight year relationship to the side like that.

I should just be a fucking man about shit, honestly. Make up my mind right now, grab my keys and walk out. But if Justin and I can reach some kind of understanding, maybe come to some kind of compromise, don’t I owe him that much? If this is what he wants? If I care at all about Justin, shouldn’t I want to make him happy? Instead of being the selfish fucking prick that fantasizes about his hot brother all goddamn day long?

I force myself to put Mack aside and focus on Justin. All the little things he does that I used to think were kind of cute, like the way he bites his bottom lip, runs his fingers through his hair, the face he makes right before he comes. Nothing. Flag is not even at half-mast. There’s not so much as a twitch of arousal at the thought of Justin coming undone, man. Not even remotely interesting to my dick right now.

I know it can work like it always has, if I just picture some porn I’ve been browsing recently on my laptop. It can work if I go down on him, because the feel of a dick hitting the back of my throat is pretty much instinct. It don’t matter who’s it is, it gets me up. It can work if I close my eyes and picture someone else. It can work if I _make_ it fit somehow, but if I attempt to let the pieces fall naturally?

It’s like glass, man. The whole thing shatters.

I feel like this is my relationship with Justin. If I stop going to Smoke’s house, drinking, getting high, if I wear tight ass fucking pants, let Justin make all the life decisions for me, let him talk over me, bitch at me, criticize my hair, my clothes, my music, my thoughts and opinions, my job, my friends, my very existence…it can work. If I _make_ it work. If I force myself into Justin’s little Justin box of pre-approved patterns of behavior.

But if I try to be who I am? It’ll fall apart, just like it has steadily been falling for the last eight years. Maybe this therapy thing will finally end it. Like, maybe if a licensed professional tells Justin he needs to dump me, he’ll finally listen. And I know all about doctor/patient confidentiality, so whatever is said during the session will stay between the three of us. Unless it’s something they feel they need to bring to the attention of the police.

Which I doubt that. It’s not like I’ve ever put my hands on Justin, and what I do I can be reprimanded for, but not arrested. Worst that happens, I have some therapist glaring hardcore at me like I’m Satan for an hour, then I go home. I can handle that. Like, that’s nothing. Despite what you might think, I really _don’t_ give a fuck what people think of me. I just hate all the drama attached to shit.

So I’m not stressing over this couples’ counseling thing. And I’m not stressed about Justin either. Right now, I’m fucking twitching because all I can think about is Mack. I’ve got Facebook Messenger pulled up, I’m friends with him on Facebook, and he’s _online_. Right now. I see the little green dot next to his name. He’s on his fucking phone, right now, and it would be so easy to just type, ‘hey’.

I wonder if he’s thinking about me.

That’s so fucking selfish of me. To want to be with Justin, and Mack too. But I want them for different reasons. Way different reasons. I don’t know if I could ever handle a relationship with Mack, but I know I want to fuck his brains out. And Justin? I can’t even get it up for Justin, but we’ve been together for so long that part of me feels obligated to stick it out. I know I can’t make either of them happy, but…

Fuck! All this emotion has my brain feeling like it’s going to split in half and I swear to fucking god if I end up with a split personality when this is over, I’m gonna fucking strangle Justin. But when my cigarette is gone, I hobble back inside and flop down on the couch. He’s still right there where I left him, listening to music. Doesn’t even look up. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Not until he’s going to bed.

Then, and only then, does he sigh, pluck the earbuds from his ears and say, “I’m going to bed.” I nod a little, then shift my attention back to my phone (I’m scrolling through YouTube now, and staying far the fuck away from Facebook) “Are you coming?” I hear, and look up. Wait, seriously? He wants me to come to bed? Shit, I thought he’d toss me a pillow from the bedroom and make me sleep on the couch. Okay then.

I get up and follow, because I’m tired too, and fall into bed, plugging my phone in to charge while Justin gets undressed and climbs in. I flip the lamp off. He rolls over, facing away from me. I hear him sigh. Try as I might, I still can’t get Mack out of my head, and I’m fucking horny. Despite fatigue, my dick is hard as a rock right now, and I’m frustrated. So I roll over and snuggle closer to Justin. I have to make this work somehow.

If I can’t have Mack, I’ll do what I always do, close my eyes and imagine I’m with him while I’m banging his brother.

I start rutting against Justin and kissing his neck and shoulder.

“Ugh, Lenny, stop.” He starts shirking away from me, prying my arm off him, and I sit up a little. “Lenny, get off me!” I snatch my arm away.

“What the fuck!”

“Like, oh my fucking god! I’m like not _even_ in the mood right now, okay?” he huffs. “Why does everything always have to be about sex with you?”

Wait, did I hear that right? Did he really just say everything’s about sex with me? Like _I’m_ the one that ignores him completely and only ever wants anything to do with him when I want sex? Yeah, don’t think so. That’s Justin. Not me. He’s fucking projecting shit right now. Once again, creating a problem where there wasn’t one. What the fuck is his deal? So not only are we not going to talk, but I can’t even touch him either?

You know what, forget it then. I’m not doing this with him right now. We’ll save this shit for therapy.

“What the fuck ever,” I sigh. But I don’t roll over and go to sleep. I snatch up my pillow, my phone and my charger, and march back to the living room.

“Lenny!”

“Fuck off,” I snap, right before I shut the door behind me and walk over to the couch. I agreed to this. I said, ‘Okay’, when this offer was laid on the table. I wanted this. But I honestly can’t, for the life of me, remember why at the moment. I don’t even know why I listened to that part of my brain. Because this shit is ridiculous. I can’t make this work. I’m not equipped to handle this kind of backlash, and I never was.

This is why I just always kept my mouth shut.

Because I can’t do this with Justin. I can’t act like nothing is wrong whenever he flips on me. I can’t act like I’m happy whenever he shoves me into this box. I can’t act like this is what I want when it’s _not_ what I want. I just can’t. I don’t know why I thought I could. I mean, wasn’t there a _reason_ I wanted to leave? Wasn’t there a _reason_ I wanted to get away from him? A _reason_ why I cheated on him? Or am I really just a selfish prick?

Are all of these problems I have with Justin just excuses, you know, to justify my behavior? Or is there really something wrong here? Because I don’t know. And all I know right now is that I don’t want to be here. This is not home. This is not where I belong. Where I belong is in a trailer across from the post office with pink flowers on the bathroom walls, angel statues on the mantle, and Brenda Marks waiting for me when I get off the school bus.

But that’s not my life anymore.

This is.

I never should’ve agreed to this. And boy do I regret it now.

But on the flip side, at least I’m not thinking about sex anymore.

* * *

We don’t speak while Justin and I get ready for work. Not even ‘minimal conversation’. No, this time, it’s total and complete communication breakdown. Absolute silence between us as we go about our routine. Mine is simple. Roll out of bed, toss my shorts to the side, throw on a pair of jeans. Belt, wallet, phone, shoes. Brush my teeth, comb my hair, make toast, smoke a cigarette, grab keys and go.

Justin’s is spend forty-five minutes just on deciding what he’s going to wear, and trying on like five different outfits before he changes into something else.

Then another half an hour in the bathroom, fixing his hair and whatnot. Then he gets the blender and makes one of his smoothies. I have been sitting here, on this goddamned couch, for over an hour, mentally blowing my brains out while he does this. But fucking _finally_ , he’s ready to go, so I grab my keys and we head out the door. I drop him off at work, and usually I go back home because I’ve got a few hours before my shift, but…

It’s early still.

Mack doesn’t have to be at work yet either.

And I really need to talk to Mack.

I stop at the nearest convenience store for cigarettes, and I’m only about a mile away from the trailer park. It would be so easy to just hop in the car, drive over, and say, “Mack, we need to talk.” I don’t know why I need to do this, but there is just some part of my brain that has to know, like, could it work? I mean, could it be serious between me and Mack if I wanted it to be? Could I ever be something he wants?

But as I’m standing in line to buy cigarettes, another thought hits me that maybe it might just be better to come clean. Like, to both of them. Tell Mack what happened the other night will never happen again, and then move out of my place and crash on Smoke’s recliner. Just take a break from everything for a while, get so fucking high I lose my mind, and kill a whole bottle of tequila by myself.

Hit the restart button on life, man. Because this shit is fucking nuts. I agreed to take counseling with Justin, but for what? I know the only way it’ll ever work between us is if I change everything about myself to suit Justin. Either that or fall on my hands and knees and fucking gravel and beg for forgiveness every time I go over to Smoke’s house and play some beerpong with Andy and company.

Like, I could understand if I was blowing off work to go chill at some crack house, shooting up, but I mean come on. Just because I go to a party every once in a blue moon, does not make me a total piece of shit, does it? I start to think to myself that maybe Justin is just seeing a problem where there really isn’t one because of all his own insecurities. Like, his mom doing coke must’ve really fucked with his head.

Shit, maybe I _should_ sit him down and talk to him about this. Because I have issues with that shit too. Like, I do _not_ like fucking crackheads, man. I understand that everybody makes mistakes, and sometimes you get involved with some bad shit, and that’s just life, but I don’t want Justin thinking that’s what I want for _my_ life. I think I need to take a break from my own problems for once, and…yeah, maybe actually work on his.

Okay, so that’s what I’ll do then. I’ll tell Mack I’m going to work through some things with Justin before I even think about taking this thing between us any further than it already got. So I pay for my cigarettes, slip my wallet back in my pocket and head to my car, feeling okay with this. I mean, like I said, I do care about Justin and I do want him to be happy, so maybe part of that just means sitting down and talking shit out.

Like, obviously, because he thought we needed counseling because we don’t communicate.

So maybe I’ll give this counseling thing a shot, right? Like what’s the worst that can happen? I mean, even if things don’t work out between us in the end, maybe we’ll at least get some closure, on both ends.

I pull up in front of Mack’s trailer with this thought in my head: That there is nothing between me and Mack. Like, all that shit was just sexual frustration on my part, just acting out a fantasy I’ve had for years, and blowing off some steam. I have absolutely no future with a guy I randomly fucked one night. Like, Mack and I will have to just stick to being friends here, because I’m staying with Justin, and that’s just how it’ll be.

I kill the engine and get out. I take a deep breath. I walk to the porch. Get up to the door. I knock. I wait. I fidget like crazy. Mack finally answers. He’s wearing jeans covered in stains and holes and shit, a black t-shirt with a red anarchy symbol, red flannel shirt thrown on over it, but not buttoned. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And he’s got his boots on. He’s not dressed for work, but he looks like I caught him just as he was getting ready to leave.

He looks me up and down, chewing his lip. “Hey.”

“Hey. Can I come in?”

He opens the door wider and lets me in. He closes the door behind me and I turn to face him. I open my mouth to speak, to set things straight between us, but I don’t get the chance. Because as soon as the door’s closed, he’s on me. Pushes me back against the door and his mouth his on mine. Goddammit. He’s kissing me like he hasn’t seen me in years, and has thought of nothing else but taking me back to his bedroom and fucking me ‘til I’m bleeding.

I try pull away. “Mnh, wait, we need to talk,” I say.

“Later,” he tells me, then his mouth his back on mine, tongue down my throat, and _damn_.

Unconsciously my arms snake around his neck and I’m moaning in his mouth. I fucking missed this. I didn’t realize how much until just now. Like, how could I not want this? How could I even think about Justin, when this beautiful hunk of fucking man is on me like this? What was I thinking? Oh, wait, shit, now I remember. “Wait, I didn’t get a chance to break up with Justin yet.”

“I don’t care,” is his response. Well, fuck. Suddenly neither do I, as he grinds up on me, squeezing my ass. I know, this is wrong. This is so fucking wrong, but it feels so fucking good. I know I shouldn’t be thinking with my dick right now, but I can’t help it. Mack is right, talking can wait. There’s something else I need right now, and I’ve wanted it since I first laid eyes on this fucker ten years ago. I’ve been denied it insofar, and that’s about to change.

I need to be on my knees, like right now, deep throating this motherfucking dick, A.S.A.P.

If we’re gonna do this shit, then we’re gonna fucking _do_ this shit.

After all, I only agreed to therapy right? Like, I know all that shit I said a few paragraphs ago, but, like, I just said ‘okay’ to us _trying_ to work things out, right? I didn’t make any guarantees that we _would_ , did I?

I know this was not part of the plan, but dammit, this is _Mack_ we’re talking about here.

Yeah, conversation can wait.

I grip him by his shirt and pivot, so now he’s the one shoved up against the door. It’s surprisingly easy too, like he just lets me do it, no resistance whatsoever. He grunts a little. And I think today, Mack is going to get a taste of his own medicine. He’s going to know what this feels like, to be wholly and completely ruined. To be marked permanently–physically, emotionally, fucking _spiritually_ –by Lenny Fucking Bordeaux.

To be taken, body and soul by someone.

Like, I will fuck this motherfucker so fucking good he will never want anyone else ever again.

This fucker will only ever want me.

And then maybe after, he and I will negotiate our _own_ little terms of agreement.

I start unbuckling Mack’s belt and he groans, thrusting his hips forward because he knows what’s coming. I lick my lip. He bites his. I get his fly open and drop to my knees.

Yeah, okay, so I guess I really am just a selfish fucking prick after all.

Sue me, assholes.

Hold on, let me get my super villain emblem back out.

*Cough*

Alright, I’m ready.

Let’s do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I gave all my sketches for Diary a special tag, and now if you want to see my terrible art but don't want to sift through all my bullshit posts, you can just search the tag “diary art” (I think I'm finally getting a hang of this fuckfest surnamed Tumblr)
> 
> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	11. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When are you gonna make your own damn decisions for once and stop lettin’ him control you, huh?”_
> 
> _I huff at that, getting up and searching the floor at the end of the bed for my clothes. “Yeah, like you don’t,” I mumble._
> 
> _And instantly I regret opening my big fat mouth because immediately I hear: “And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Open Up"–Korn](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=vp8F379knKs&feature=share)

I realize that I may have some minor issues with self control.

(I think the last ten chapters pretty well established that.)

But I was told, repeatedly, by my counselor, that the key to managing my anger was mastering self control.

Obviously I haven’t managed that all too well.

Because obviously I run on impulse.

I mean, I know to use my words, fucking _think_ about what I’m going to say before I say it, take deep breaths, count backwards from ten when somebody pisses me off, and if all else fails, get up and walk away from the fight. Like that’s an every day thing for me, little tricks like those that help keep me from bashing someone’s head in on a constant basis. And yet, I still lose control when someone pushes me far enough.

Some violence is healthy. Just your body’s natural reaction to a threat, like defending yourself in a fist fight with a bully at school. It’s normal. But constantly fighting the urge to take your belt, wrap it around your boyfriend’s neck and hang him from a very tall building? Not normal. At least I don’t think. I’ve been told by others that I have no self control, but I think to myself that the fact that Justin is still alive should be proof that I _do_.

Because _that’s_ my problem. That I _do_ practice restraint. Every goddamn day. I have to spend all day long suppressing every violent urge, that eventually it spills over and I snap. That asshole that I shoved up against a wall? Yeah, he just so happened to be the unlucky motherfucker that said something wrong to me on a particularly bad day, thus I unloaded all that pent up aggression on his punk ass. Because I couldn’t take it out on Justin.

If Andy hadn’t pulled me off the guy, I would’ve fucked him up way worse.

So I think to myself that maybe instead of unloading violent rage on someone in the form of _actual_ violence, maybe instead I should upload a little sexual rage onto Mack’s dick, know what I’m saying? Because this guy? I think this guy gets it, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to fuck this guy so hard neither one of us can stand afterwards for at least an hour. Now that, that is good plan. A bad idea, but a good fucking plan.

Because I think what I need right now is a little _loss_ of self control.

Because everything in my life right now feels so _out_ of my control. Like it’s been constantly spiraling, spinning and spinning, steadily winding up, faster and faster, and I know that very soon shit will spin completely off its axis, and I will lose _all_ sense of control. So what I need right now, more than anything, is to gain that sense of it again. And so if I can’t do that any other way than by sucking Mack’s soul out through his dick and fucking him senseless?

Fuck it.

Like I said, shit’s complicated.

And whenever Mack fucking touches me, I swear, I have _zero_ control over how badly I want to fuck this guy.

* * *

“Fuck,” Mack curses, head banging against the door when I take him all in at once, all the way down, til I’m gagging on that shit. “Goddamn.”

I moan around his dick, my own fucking stiff as a board and pressing uncomfortably tight against my pants.

I add my hand around his shaft as I suck him off and he starts thrusting just a little into it, hand on the back of my head like he wants to shove it down, but doesn’t want to choke me. Oh, but I want to be choked on this dick, so bad. So I reach behind me, grab his hand and push as I go down to give him the idea. I feel him grip my hair, and the next time I go down, he fucking shoves it into my mouth hard.

When I can get air, I moan. So does he. I don’t think I’ve ever been this deliriously turned on. He fucks my mouth like he wants to fuck this ass, hard and deep until he’s shaking. “Fuck, lemme sit down,” he gasps, and I pull away. I scramble to my feet, grab his hand and drag him to the couch. But I shove him down, get on my knees, and I’m fucking yanking his pants down. I don’t know what my face looks like, but his is fucking priceless.

Some mix of shock and arousal. But up until this point, Mack has been in control, but I am making it abundantly clear that such will not be the way we go about things today. Nope. Not happening. This is my show. I’m running this shit today. I’m so fucking pissed right now at so many things I can’t even name them all, and all I want right now is to take it out on him. So I will fucking power bottom the shit out of this situation.

Not that Mack’s complaining. He’s hard and throbbing in my mouth, when I go all the way down again and just stay there. Flex my throat like I’m swallowing, gagging a little on his length and just stay like that til I absolutely have to come up for air. Then I do it again. And again. And he watches me too. Intensely. Like he’s a hungry wolf and I’m the rabbit about to get fucked. I’m not dainty with the shit either.

There’s spit everywhere, dripping out of my mouth, all over his dick, and I smooth it over his shaft with a few jerks of my hand, watching his face before I’m going back down again.

Let’s just take a moment here to appreciate the gag reflex, as a true work of art. I mean, I don’t understand why straight guys are so into women that don’t have a gag reflex, why they’re enthralled by that, because watching somebody gag on your dick is fucking hot. Like, that’s an ego boost right there. It’s like, ‘Damn, I’m so big this bitch is choking on it.’ It’s even better when you’re like me, and you enjoy being choked.

It’s almost a religious experience.

I feel Mack’s hand shove me back down and hold my head down for a second, because he likes that shit too, and think to myself, ‘Wow, this is a match made in heaven, right here.’ It’s intrinsic. There is nothing else on my mind right now except seeing how long I can torture this fucker until either he begs me to let him come in my mouth, or begs me to let him fuck me. I’m good with either one. I can just jerk off afterwards.

But he moans, and says, “Goddamn, baby, I wanna fuck you _so bad._ ”

Again, I lose all manner of self control, and suddenly that’s all I want too.

I pop my head up. “Bedroom. Now.”

“Yes sir,” he quips with a smirk at my bossy tone, shrugging his pants back up. And for once, I get to be the one who’s smug for a change. I drag him off the couch and lead him down the hall, chuckling when he slaps my ass. Yeah, I know I’m bad. But I don’t fucking care right now. I grab him by his shirt, get him over to the bed, and shove him down on it. And he’s loving this shit. He scoots further onto the bed, and gets comfortable.

I kick off my shoes then start peeling off my shirt. Mack watches me the whole time I’m undressing like he wants to devour every fucking inch of me. Now that’s an ego boost right there. Like, I have never seen Justin look at me the way Mack looks at me. Like I’m a god, and he is fully prepared to prostrate himself before me and fucking worship me. Oh and he just might, when this is all over.

I feel like a god right now, holding the key to Mack’s salvation in the palm of my hand.

I strip down and crawl toward him on the bed. When I’m at his waist I yank his pants back down past his hips and he helps me, distractedly though, because his full attention is still on my face, as if there’s something he can see in it that I can’t. I grab his dick in one hand and a fistful of his hair with the other and pull him into a kiss as I’m jerking him. He pulls me closer, so now I’m straddling him, and his hands are all over me.

We’re lined up damned near perfect now, so I take both our dicks in hand and slide down and back up in a slow languid motion, careful to not grip too tightly or pull too roughly because we’re not well enough lubricated at the moment. But he’s oozing precum, and moaning with every pull. His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, sucking and biting as he goes until he reaches a nipple, then he bites hard and I hiss, then moan in response.

Fuck I love the way that hurts.

And he knows. So he does it again, with the other one, bites down and then tugs a little. I’m giving nipple piercings some serious consideration at the moment. Like, I always thought that would be kind of a no, like, how gay would that be for a dude to have his nipples pierced, right? But fuck it. Because this feels fucking awesome, and that’s all I care about right now. Mack switches from biting to sucking, and rolling his tongue over me next.

My back arches into it, and man do I wanna fuck, so I moan out, “Condoms.”

“Nightstand,” he murmurs against my skin, and so I pull away–reluctantly–and lean over to rummage through it. I find a box of them, and his bottle of lube. The whole time I’m exploring the drawer, Mack keeps touching me. Hands gliding smoothly over my thighs, and then reaching around to my ass, squeezing it, and I buck a little when he slides a finger right over the hole, whimpering at that. My mad rush grows a little more frantic.

When I have the blessed bottle in hand, I give Mack another taste of his own medicine as I kiss him, tongue diving deep to the back of his throat, earning myself a twitch from his dick and a moan in response. We do some awesome teamwork, as Mack rips the package open and gets the condom on while I slick my ass with lube, but then it’s all me again. I push him down, lay him flat on his back and I guide him in.

I toy with him a little first, push just the head in, then back out a couple times. “Fuck,” he curses, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, but he forces them open to watch me. He doesn’t want to miss a second of this, and neither do I want him to. After a few times of just sinking down a little and withdrawing, I slowly sink down completely, watching his head jerk upward and his eyes roll back momentarily at the feel of sheathing completely inside me.

“Goddamn,” he exhales. “I fuckin’ missed this.”

My thoughts exactly. I smirk a little, and slowly ride him at first, just a few long slow plunges before I pick up pace and ride him harder, pushing down on his chest for leverage. “Oh fuck yeah, just like that,” he gasps as I fuck him good and hard and fast. His hands grip my thighs so tightly he’s leaving red marks that I know will probably bruise, and he pretty soon he starts meeting me halfway, thrusting upward every time I come down.

It doesn’t take him all that long to come, and I wasn’t expecting it to. Fuck all that nonsense about how long a man can keep it up–I _know_ how long Mack can keep it up–and the fact that I have him spilling into that condom in almost no time at all just tells me how fucking nuts I drove him. And I’m loving this shit. I ride him out ‘til he’s finished throbbing inside me, every bit of cum is milked dry and he starts to go soft before I pull off and clean him up.

I slide the condom off and toss it aside and lick clean the small dribble of cum left behind, making him twitch and moan. He ends up pushing my head down, pulsing in my mouth. “Oh fuck, yeah, keep suckin’ me baby,” he says. He’s over-sensitive to it, shaking a little and writhing beneath me as I sink down and know what he wants. He wants to get back up and hard again so he can pound this ass like a jack-hammer.

He grips the hair on the top of my head and guides me how he wants me, moaning and encouraging me until he’s up and he lifts me off him. “Get on your knees,” I hear, and hot damn do I love that phrase. It’s my new favorite phrase and I crawl over and onto my knees as he’s slipping on a fresh condom. There’s no warm up, he just slides in and starts pounding me, hard. Once again, starts searching for that perfect angle.

When he finds it I swear I feel like I want to cry, like, it’s just that good. “Fuck, _harder_ ,” I demand, and he complies. He fucks me so hard the whole fucking trailer shakes, and there is no way his neighbors don’t suspect _something_ is going on over here. I have to raise my arm and brace myself to keep from slamming headfirst into the wall. “Oh. Fuck. Yes,” I moan, each word punctuated by snap of Mack’s hips against my ass.

I reach down and grab my dick. I don’t really need to, like I could come like this, I know I could, but I’m not yet a good judge of how long Mack can keep it up a second round before he’s tapping out, and I want to come. It only takes a few quick jerks before I’m spilling out over my hand and onto the mattress. “Shit!” I shriek, my voice obscenely high, as Mack keeps fucking me as I’m coming, until my head drops and rests against my arm.

He slows, then eventually stops, and pulls out, flopping down on the bed beside me, and I follow shortly. We lay there for a minute, chests heaving, sweat soaking the bed, collecting our brains, not a word passing between us. As I catch my breath, I ground myself in the reality of the situation once more, and my stomach flips. I just fucked Mack– _again_ –and I cheated on Justin– _again_. This is becoming a pattern.

Eventually Mack stirs, sitting up and removing the used condom and tossing it aside with the other, wipes himself off, pulls up his pants, then flops back down beside me. He folds his arms above his head and stares up at the ceiling. Finally, Mack breaks the silence with a sigh, and says, “So you’re still with my brother, huh?”

“Yeah,” I exhale.

“How the hell did that happen?” he asks me.

“I don’t fucking know,” I say, shaking my head a little as I speak. Actually, I do know. I know exactly how it happened. Because I listened to the wrong part of my brain. Per usual. And man, I can’t even blame it on my dick! Sex was in no way a factor in this, whatsoever. Just me and my dumbass mouth that agreed to shit I didn’t really want. “I told him how I felt about shit, then he decided to make us an appointment for couples’ counseling.”

Mack snorts beside me and shakes his head like that’s the most ridiculous shit he’s ever heard. “Counseling,” he repeats.

“Yeah. He says he’s tired of me smoking and drinking, and says we’ve got communication problems.”

“Did you tell him off about that shit?”

“Yeah I fucking told him off about that shit. I told him everything. Okay, well, except for the part where I went home with you and we fucked, but… Nah, man, I told him. But I guess he thinks there’s still somethin’ between us worth holding on to, because instead of kicking my ass to the curb he said we should take therapy, talk about shit. I don’t know, I think he thinks he’s helping me or something. Like I need to be fixed.”

“You don’t need fixin’,” Mack tells me. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with you.” My heart gives a little thump when I hear that. It feels good to hear that from someone. Maybe especially Mack. “And you agreed to that shit? You really think counseling is gonna fix shit? I know my brother; this is just him tryin’ to get his way. Counseling? It’s all bullshit. Trust me, I know. He’s just like his mom. She did the same shit to dad. And now he’s doin’ it to you.”

“We’ve been together for eight years, man,” I say. “I mean, how the fuck am I just supposed to shove eight years aside like that?”

Mack huffs. “You said you were done with him,” he reminds me. “You never wanted to be with him in the first place. You think I can’t see that? Goddammit, Len, when are you gonna stop lettin’ my brother walk all over you? Is that what you want? To let Justin fuckin’ make all the decisions for you? When are you gonna make your own damn decisions for once and stop lettin’ him control you, huh?”

I huff at that, getting up and searching the floor at the end of the bed for my clothes. “Yeah, like you don’t,” I mumble.

And instantly I regret opening my big fat mouth because immediately I hear: “And just what the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?!”

I look up as I’m pulling on my underwear to see Mack buckling his belt and he’s _pissed_. He shoots out of the bed and goes off on me. “I didn’t put a goddamn gun to your head and _make_ you come here!” he barks. “I didn’t make you do _shit_! So get the fuck out of here with that bullshit! Don’t you even _act_ like you didn’t want it when I sure as hell _know_ you did! I ain’t the one fuckin’ makin’ you miserable, Len, _he_ is, and you know it!”

“Mack, I didn’t mean–”

“Well, tell me what the fuck you mean then! Because how else am I supposed to take that, huh?! You came to me, not the other way around–”

“Goddammit, Mack, I didn’t mean it like that!” I snap, and he stops.

He freezes, mouth hanging open, eyes widening a little, and so do I.

Holy shit, man. I just snapped and screamed at Mack at the top of my lungs, and I’ve _never_ done that before. Never in the ten years I’ve known this man have I ever raised my voice like that in his presence, much less directly at him. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I panic. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. I don’t like yelling at Mack, and I wish I hadn’t. Fuck do I feel like shit for doing it. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I’m–I’m gonna go.”

I quickly snatch up the rest of my clothes then dart out of the room and down the hallway. I hear Mack following me, saying, “Len, wait.” But I’ve done enough damage, so I keep walking, shaking my head. I can’t argue with Mack. I just can’t. I feel his hand curl around my arm and I shirk away, face beet red and I think I might cry. I know, I know, that’s some pansy ass shit right there, but I feel fucking awful for yelling like that.

But Mack grabs me by the arm, saying, “Len, baby, wait,” and he turns me around. “What did you mean?” He doesn’t even look mad, just confused, which makes me feel even worse. I try to shirk away one last time but he doesn’t budge and instead pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me. “Hey, look at me.” I look up. I see his face, not even a hint of anger, only concern. Quietly, he asks again, “What did you mean?”

Fuck, it’s so stupid. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “Nothin’, man, just–”

“Tell me,” he begs, softly, like the nicest sweetest voice I’ve ever heard. Like he’s just confused, and just wants to understand what’s going through my head. “What did you mean?”

“It’s stupid,” I mumble. But when I open my eyes, he looks at me like he doesn’t believe me. “Nah, man it is,” I whine, “It’s fuckin’ dumb as hell.” At some point, my hands dropped my shirt and belt, gravitated to his chest, and I don’t know if I meant to push him away or not, but now I’m just tracing the red A on his shirt with my fingers. “I just–I just meant that–that it’s like the second you touch me, it’s like you own me.”

“Own you?”

“Yeah, like…I just can’t control it, you know? Like, whenever I’m with you, I don’t think about nothin’ else. Like there’s nowhere else I wanna be.”

Told you it sounds stupid.

Like, for real, that's the girliest shit ever.

He chuckles a little at me and my face is redder than a cherry, but now just mostly from embarrassment. I can’t look him in the eye anymore and so mine drop to his chest. But I feel him pull me even closer, then feel his head dip, forehead touching with mine and he sighs. “You ain’t the only one,” he says. I snort a little, disbelievingly. But I don’t feel quite as dumb as I did moments ago. He pulls me into his chest and hugs me close.

My arms slip around his waist, clinging just as tight, I let out a sigh, and say, “I’m sorry for yellin’ like that. I didn’t mean to get mad like that, I just…”

“No, don’t apologize,” he says. He rubs my back. “Hell, you can yell at me all you want,” he laughs. “Any time you want. ‘Bout anything and everything you feel like. I don’t mind.”

I pull away a little to stare up at him, brow arched. “You would seriously want me to scream at you?” I ask. He just smiles.

“It’s better than not talkin’, ain’t it?” he asks, and I think about that. Okay, yeah, I think I see what he’s saying. Yelling at each other is better than not communicating at all, whatsoever, I guess. At least that means we’re talking and not bottling that shit up, keeping that shit to ourselves. And…and I guess we made up now too? I feel him exhale and kiss the top of my head, still rubbing my back and shoulders. “And I'm an asshole. I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t," I shake my head.

“Yeah I did,” he says. “If you don’t feel like you can open up to me, be honest about shit, and tell me off when I start actin’ like a dumbass and I need to just shut the fuck up and quit runnin’ my goddamn mouth, hell, I don’t deserve you anyway.” I chew my lip a little when I hear that. Fuck, he’s right. If we can’t be honest with each other, we really ain’t got no business fucking around with each other. “You gotta work today?” he asks me.

“Yeah,” I sigh, unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice, because I would like nothing more than to just stay here all day with Mack instead of going out that door and facing my problems head on. “You gotta work too, right?”

“Actually, I was gonna blow off work today and head out to Smoke’s,” he says. “Ran outta weed, was gonna swing by an’ pick up a dime, hang out for a little and burn one.” He pulls away a little to look down at me. “You wanna come with?”

Yes. Fuck yes. But I’m not sure if I can. My manager likes me, and I’ve never caused trouble for him. I only ever call off work if I’m sick or have something important that I absolutely can’t reschedule. Mike trusts me not to play hooky just because I feel like it. I shouldn’t take advantage of that. But Justin never calls the restaurant looking for me if he needs me, always calls my cellphone. So I don’t have to worry about that. Plus he’s at work too.

Not like he can just pop up at my job randomly. Not like he did last time, not without causing some serious problems for his own supervisor, so…you know what, fuck it. When do I ever just have a day to myself to do what I want? It’s a fucking rarity, I’ll tell you that. So I nod a little. “Just lemme call my boss,” I tell Mack. Then I whip out my phone, dialing the number. It rings a few times.

Lisa answers. “Hey, Lis, is Mike around?”

“Yeah, hold on, I’ll get him.”

I wait a few, then year, “Mike Jacobs.”

“Hey Mike, it’s Lenny.”

“Hey, buddy, what’s goin’ on?”

“Not much, but uhm, look I’m sorry, but I can’t come in today. I’ve got some things that came up.”

“Are you okay?” Mike asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I'm not sick, I just–I just have some personal things I need to take care of.”

“Okay, well I can ask Lisa if she wants your shift; she’s been asking me about more hours anyway. I’ll see if she can stay over and cover for you.”

“Great, thank you so much. And tell Lisa I said thanks.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to you later, buddy.”

“Alright, later,” I say and hang up. I smirk at Mack. “You’re lucky my boss likes me and I’m like employee of the month and shit,” I say, and he chuckles.

“So he’s gonna let you off?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna let me off.”

“Hell yeah,” he chuckles, then picks me up off the floor and bear hugs me. I’m choking, gasping for air as I’m laughing at him. He’s like a kid at Christmas right now. Fuck, this feels great. Why can’t Justin ever be this excited about getting to spend time with me?…Okay, no, I’m done thinking about Justin for right now. Instead, I’m gonna be stupid just one more time, stop listening to my conscience, and maybe for once…

Start listening to my heart.

Hey, the heart wants what it wants, right? And man does mine pound whenever I think about Mack. I think it might be trying to tell me something, you know?

Yeah, yeah, I know it's wrong, but fuck morality, man.

I'm not about that shit.

So if you were expecting some kind of moral compass bullshit?

You're reading the wrong goddamned book, my friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	12. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Turns out my perfect guy really is perfect for me._
> 
> _And I don’t deserve him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Like A Stone"–Audioslave](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=glO58_4sXWM&feature=share)

The ride to Smoke’s house is pretty quiet. Mack’s got the radio on and CCR is playing. The song, ‘Have You Ever Seen The Rain.’ Good song. The truck lurches whenever we go over a bump on the single lane gravel road, and Mack is humming quietly along with the song. The truck’s an automatic transmission, so no need to shift gears, which means the hand that’s not steering the wheel is holding mine. I know, crazy right? Mack’s holding my hand. He’s surprisingly affectionate. And I kind of like it.

The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful fucking day, and Mack’s brushing my knuckles with his thumb.

I go over the argument we had in my head. I still can’t believe what happened. I mean, I warn people. I tell them I have anger issues. I’m honest about that shit. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just that when people piss me off it’s like something clicks in my head and I lose control. Had that been Justin or literally anyone else that set me off I would not have been able to stop myself from shoving them through a wall. But for some reason that didn’t happen with Mack, and I don’t know why.

I mean, sure, I yelled at him, but that was it. I don’t know if it was because I’d already exhausted myself with sex, or what it was, but for the first time in I don’t know how many years, I had enough sense to walk away from the fight before it escalated instead of attacking him, even though I was so pissed. Maybe it’s something about Mack, because I really did feel awful about yelling at him like that. Maybe it’s because he cares about me. Or maybe because I care about him.

I’m in a daze as we cruise along the back road to Smoke’s house–kind of like I’m high, but I’m completely sober, no weed or anything–and I’ve never felt like this before. I smile a little to myself, thinking about it. I like this feeling. When we get to the driveway and pull in, I don’t see any other vehicle but Smoke’s Cavalier, so he’s the only one home. He heard us pull up and is standing on the front porch with this goofy ass grin on his face. Man, I love going to Smoke’s.

He always makes people feel welcome when they come over, like they’re family, which means when we get up to the porch he sweeps Mack into a bear hug first and then me when he greets us. “What’s goin’ on, man,” Mack chuckles when he hugs him.

“Not much, man,” Smoke drawls then turns to me. “Hey there’s my favorite nephew,” he says to me and I grin as I’m swept into an equally suffocating hug. Mack gapes a little.

“Hey, I thought I was you’re favorite,” he whines, and I laugh at that. Smoke lets us inside and we kick our shoes off by the door before we head to the living room and flop down on the couch just as Smoke sits back in his recliner. The tv’s on, but it’s muted and the stereo’s on, playing rock music. So the same songs we were listening to in the truck we’re still listening to now. Smoke reclines back, propping his feet up, then sifts through the stand next to the chair. He pulls out a bag.

He tosses the weed onto Mack’s lap, and Mack reaches in his pocket for his wallet. But Smoke says, “Don’t worry about it, man. Just catch me next time.” Mack lifts a brow.

“Alright,” he drawls slowly, sliding his wallet back in his pocket. “Appreciate it.”

“No problem. So what you kids been up to? You kinda disappeared the other night.”

“Oh, yeah, we went back to my place,” Mack tells him. Then something interesting happens. I’m partially scared when he does this, because it’s basically ingrained in me to keep my sexuality on the down-low. So when Mack pats my knee, and says, “Had a pretty good time,” smiling at me and _keeps_ his hand on my leg, my heart jumps right to my throat. But Smoke doesn’t do anything off-putting; he’s still got that smile, and lifts a brow at what Mack says. I shuck a little, smirking.

I remember Mack telling me that Smoke knows he’s gay and doesn’t care that he is, but he didn’t know about me. But maybe he forgot he didn’t know, and thought he was supposed to know or something because he doesn’t seemed shocked. Just pleasantly surprised. “Hey, man, that’s real cool,” he drawls with a grin. “You guys are both like family to me, ya know? I’m happy for you guys.” And that’s the last comment he makes about it. Just asks, “So you wanna get high?”

Smoke packs his neon glass pipe and we pass it around, and eventually Mack leans back on the couch and throws his arm around me, pulling me closer. Smoke doesn’t care. I’m half laying on his chest as we pass the bowl, higher than a kite and I could not be more out of it right now. Like, for real, I’m so _happy_ right now. This is… this is different. I never feel comfortable like this, regardless of where I am or who I’m with, but being here with Mack like this it feels… _perfect_.

But I freak out a little when I hear a car pulling into the driveway. I start to sit up, to move away from Mack, but he holds me in place, hand on my chest, and murmurs, “Relax, baby, it’s just Andy.”… _Just_ Andy? Like, seriously, Andy knows too? What the fuck! Andy’s an asshole! And he knows Mack’s gay too? Not that Andy’s the kind of guy to ever be violent towards gay guys, but he’s not exactly cool with that shit either. I mean I’ve heard this dude call guys like Justin fairies. Just saying.

“Yo!” he calls, when he opens the door. I think the only reason I’m even remotely calm right now is because I’m high and Mack’s reassuring me, but my heart is pounding like crazy. “What’s goin’ on… whoa.” He stops and freezes when he walks into the living room and sees me and Mack on the couch. I’m tense right now. He stares blankly for a second, before finally commenting, saying, “Yo, Twitch, man, I didn’t know you was gay an’ shit.” He flops down on empty spot on the couch beside us.

“But that’s what’s up though,” he then says. “Hey pass that bowl, man,” he tells Mack, who grunts.

“Wait your turn.”

“Man, fuck you, I ain’t been here. I gotta catch up to ya’ll.”

Mack huffs, but hands him the pipe. “Man, you’re fuckin’ up the rotation,” he says, and Andy just scoffs, pulls out his lighter and lights the bowl, taking a few puffs.

Holy fuck man.

Is this shit really happening?!

Am I really sitting here with Smoke and Andy, Mack with his arm around me, and everybody’s cool with this shit? Like, my two closest friends are just fine with me being gay? Okay, maybe Andy’s not that okay, because he whines at Mack, “Man, do ya’ll really gotta sit there an’ cuddle? Like, for real.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mack chuckles. “You know how many times I had to sit there with you and Amy five feet away dry humping on the couch?”

“Well, you ain’t gotta look.”

“Neither do you, dumbass.” I snicker at that. With Andy in rotation I’m now passing the pipe to him instead of to Smoke, so when it’s in my hand I do, and as he’s taking a puff, Mack asks, “Hey Andy, how’s my dick taste?” To which he chokes and almost drops the pipe, face turning white as snow. He turns and scowls at Mack, scrunching his face up. I mean, it’s fucking hilarious. Mack’s chuckling. I can’t see his face but I feel it as I’m jostled about. I roll my eyes as I’m snickering.

“Man, don’t even play like that.”

“Oh my god dude, he’s _joking_ ,” I say. Andy exhales in relief. “…I used mouthwash afterwards.”

That earns me a glare, and I crack up at the face he makes. Eventually waves us both off, snorting, like none of it was serious, but wouldn’t he flip shit if he knew my mouth really was on Mack’s dick earlier. But I did use mouthwash though. Swished my mouth out when I used the bathroom before we left because I knew we’d all be sharing a pipe, or a bong or something when we came over. I still can’t believe this. Like, I’m still freaking out about this. Not in a bad way, but this is fucking crazy.

I spent so many years being scared of these guys finding out I’m gay. All three of them. My three closest friends finding out I liked men was a nightmare for me. I spent so long always feeling self conscious about anything I said or did that they might take the wrong way. Spent so many years in the closet, in the _dark_ , alone and scared of people learning the truth. But here I am with these people, one of them is also gay and has his arm around me, and we’re chilling, joking around, like everything’s cool.

I never thought in a million years this would ever happen to me. I mean, this is a dream. Is this really what life could be like if I was with Mack? I feel like that’s what this moment is. It’s Mack’s way of showing me how life could be if we were together, if I wasn’t with Justin, letting him rule my life; if I would just let go of all my fears, my doubts, and any hesitation. I can’t say it would be perfect, but it would still be much better than my life has ever been in the last eight years.

Eventually I get up to wander to the kitchen, snatch a cup out of the cabinet, then pour myself a glass of Coke. I faintly hear footsteps and turn thinking it’s Mack, but instead I see Andy. “What’s goin’ on, man?” I ask, confused, when I see this worried expression on his face. What could possibly have happened in the last five minutes to turn him completely around from high and happy to worried and nervously chewing his lip? “You okay?”

He scratches his head, takes a breath and says, “Just wanted to say, man, I’m… I’m sorry for some of the things I’ve said around you, you know, whenever you come over. Like, about gay people an’ shit? ‘Cause you know none of that shit is like… that I hate guys like you or somethin’ right? Because I didn’t know you were like that, and Mack usually don’t mind. Like, he doesn’t really care what I say. So I just didn’t know if, like, you thought I would hate you or something, I just–”

“Okay, let me stop you right there,” I say, interrupting his rambling. “It’s all good, man. I don’t care either.”

“Seriously? I mean, some of the shit I say–”

“Dude, it’s alright,” I assure him. “I mean, have you heard _me_?” I laugh a little. “Man, just ‘cause I’m a fag, don’t mean I’ve been all fake an’ shit, like, this is who I am. I don’t hide anything. I’m not going to suddenly have a problem with you just because you found out I’m gay.”

Andy raises a brow at me. “For real? Like, you bein’ an asshole is just you?” I nod. “Damn, like, I thought you just acted all hyped up an’ shit so people wouldn’t know.” I shake my head at that. “So this is the real you? Like, you ain’t got no secret weird habits or some shit? Like, wearing dresses or somethin’?”

“Ew, what the fuck!” I laugh. “No. Man, _no_. No I don’t have any secret gay shit goin’ on. Just… just the fact that I like guys. That’s the extent of it.” Andy makes a face again as if to say, ‘For real?’ But I think about it for a second. “Okay, I do like poetry an’ shit,” I admit. “Like, I don’t share _that_ with people. But that’s about it. I write poetry.” And I can’t believe I just admitted that, but while I’m being open and honest to people, figure I might as well knock that one out of the water too, right?

Andy snorts. “You’re a poet?” I sigh when he starts snickering. “You write poetry?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s so fucking gay,” I say, rolling my eyes. Andy cracks up, but then claps me on the arm.

“Nah, man, it’s all good. Like, that’s pretty cool actually. I can’t write for nothin’. I suck at that shit… But so like this explains a lot though, right? ‘Cause I ain’t never seen you with a girl. I mean, are you bi or are you just…”

“No, I’m totally gay,” I admit. “Like, I’m so fucking gay I make all of ‘em look straight, like, that’s how bad it is.” That gets Andy to laugh. “But hey, do me a favor though. Don’t tell nobody about me and Mack. His brother, Justin, he’s…not just my roommate.”

“Oh shit, he’s you’re boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. You’re fuckin’ around with your boyfriend’s older brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Well damn, dawg. You just a _playuh!”_ he says, and I scoff at that.

“Shut the fuck up,” I mumble and he laughs.

“What the fuck are you doin’ datin’ Justin, though? Like, you and him are _way_ different people. Why don’t you just leave him for Mack? Like, you and Mack seem right for each other an’ shit.”

My pulse races when I hear that. “It’s… complicated.”

“Shit, _life’s_ complicated,” Andy comments, clapping me on the shoulder again.

I snort a little, then shake my head disbelievingly at this whole situation. We go back to the living room and flop down on the couch. Mack and Smoke have been talking, and clue us in on conversation. We hang out for about another hour or so before Mack and I slip our shoes back on, saying our goodbyes, and head out. When we get to the truck, Mack puts the keys in the ignition, but he doesn’t start the engine. He sits there for a second thinking about something, before he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I glance at him.

“For what?”

“I thought they knew,” he shrugs. “I thought the reason you still came around was because Smoke and Andy already knew you’re gay. If I had known they didn’t, I wouldn’t have said nothin’. I mean that’s… that’s somethin’ you should do on your own time, when you’re ready for it, if that’s somethin’ _you_ want. And I shouldn’t-”

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” I tell him, reaching for his hand as it rests on the center console. I squeeze it. “I was planning on telling them anyway,” I admit. “Well, Smoke, anyway. I mean, you said he already knew about you and it got me thinking that maybe I should just come out and tell him. I mean he’s kind of the only family I have. But it kinda caught me off guard though?” I chuckle. “Like, I never thought you’d tell somebody like Andy. I don’t know if you noticed, but he’s kind of an asshole.”

Mack laughs a little. “Yeah, but he’s alright though. He doesn’t really care. He might act like a dumbass every once in a while, but he’s a good guy.” Mack turns to look at me fully. “They may be a lot of things, but Smoke and Andy? They’re good people, and they would never look at you any different for that shit. And they’ll have your back. You ain’t gotta worry about that.” Just like before, he brushes my knuckles with his thumb. “You won’t _ever_ have to worry about that. Not with me.”

I swallow harshly as I stare into his eyes.

This could be real, if I wanted it, couldn’t it?

All I would have to do is say yes, and Mack would look out for me. I could be his. I could have a life with someone that cares about me, not just himself. But the both of us, together. We’d be equals. Not 40/60 or 80/20, but 50-50 split right down the middle one hundred percent. I could maybe be happy with someone like Mack. Like, maybe Andy’s right, and me and Mack belong together. But I let out a sigh and look away, squashing that thought. Doesn’t matter though, because it’s like Mack _knows_.

“Why don’t you wanna be with me?” he asks me, and I bite down hard on my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. Especially at the way he asked that question. Quietly and gently, like he’s trying not to spook me or scare me away or something. That is not an easy question to answer. Because it’s not like I don’t. Not at all, and in fact it’s the opposite. All I want is to be with someone like Mack, someone who understands me. Someone who makes me feel like I actually matter. I sigh a little.

“It’s not like I don’t,” I tell him. “Believe me, I do. But I can’t.” I hear Mack exhale in a sigh of his own at that. “Just–just hear me out,” I plead, before Mack can get a word in. “Man, I can’t just walk away from everything going on just like that. It’s _not_ that easy, Mack. I mean, I’ve thought about this for years. About leaving Justin behind, and I just can’t. I would if I could, but I don’t have anywhere to go. What am I gonna do, sleep in my car? And no, before you say it, no I can’t stay with you.

Because I know if I leave Justin for you, he will _never_ speak to you again. And ever since he told Linda he’s gay, she won’t talk to him, won’t have anything to do with him. Right now, you’re the only family he’s got. He needs you. More than I need you. I can’t be selfish like that. I know he drives me fucking crazy, but I do care about him. And you. And I don’t want to be the thing that comes between you two. I know you said you didn’t care, but you should care. That’s your brother, man.”

Mack takes a deep breath after all that. Then he says, “Look, I get it. I do. And you’re right. I should. But I ain’t gonna just sit here and watch him put you through hell, Len. I can’t do it.”

“ _Mack_ …”

And then. And _then_ ….

“You belong with _me_ ,” he tells me, lacing our fingers together and squeezing my hand so tight I think he might break it, and I get emotional.

It’s both what I’ve always wanted, and what I _never_ should’ve wanted.

I stop myself from bursting into tears in the middle of Smoke’s driveway, but I’m so tense right now from having to hold back my emotions and my leg starts bouncing. In that instant Mack knows something’s really wrong, like he’s got a sixth sense for that shit. “Baby,” he murmurs, trying to pull me out of my thoughts. I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on Smoke’s house in front of me. I refuse to look at him. My jaw clenches tightly and I close my free hand in a fist.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that,” I hear him mumble. “Look, I just… I just want you to be happy.”

“And you’re right, it’s not with him,” I grit out between my teeth. “But I can’t… I can’t be with… F-fuck, Mack, I-I just…n-need more time,” I stammer. “I-I need time to think.”

“Alright,” he immediately agrees. “Alright, whatever you want.”

“Just…just let me have this, for right now,” I say. “Just…give me time.”

“Alright then,” he says, one more time, then lets go of my hand so he can turn the key. But as soon as the truck is started and we pull out of the driveway, he reaches for my hand again, and I don’t pull away. Because I _need_ this. In that moment, this becomes my lifeline that I cling to, out of desperation. Because I know in that moment that as long as I’m with Mack, everything’s okay. It might not be tomorrow or the next day, but at least right now, everything’s going to be alright.

I’m gonna be okay.

So we drive back to Mack’s trailer, and he completely drops the issue about me leaving Justin. Doesn’t even mention his brother passingly in conversation. Like Justin doesn’t even exist. Like it’s just us. Like it’s always been the two of us together, and I was never with Justin at all. “Goddamn I’m fuckin’ starvin’,” he huffs when we get inside, and starts searching the cabinets for something to snack on. “There ain’t no way in hell you’d cook for me, is there?” he asks, turning to shoot me with a look.

A begging, pleading, puppy-eyed look that makes me fucking melt.

I chuckle at him. “Man, my food cannot be _that_ good,” I say, and he grins.

“It’s pretty fuckin’ good.”

I offer to whip us up something to eat because I’ve got the munchies and I’m starving too. Mack helps me a little and while I cook he hangs out in the kitchen with me and we talk. About anything and everything we feel like talking about. Except Justin. Just about us, about our lives. I tell him I decided to go to school for writing, but I can’t decide what school yet and he’s fucking ecstatic when he hears that. “I just don’t know if I want to write poetry, though,” I say. “But I was thinking about teaching.”

“Teaching English lit?” he asks and I nod, flipping the grilled cheese sandwiches I’m making.

“Yeah, but could you imagine me as a teacher though?”

“Yeah, the first time a student smarts you off, you’re arrested for smackin’ ‘em upside the head with a goddamn ruler,” he tells me and I bust out laughing at that. Sad part is, it’s probable.

So we hang out all afternoon at Mack’s house until it’s time for me to go. Snuggled up on the couch watching tv. I lay on Mack’s chest and sigh happily when he cards his fingers through my hair. When the alarm goes off on my phone to let me know I have to start getting ready to go pick up Justin from work, with both groan. I don’t want to leave, and Mack doesn’t want to let me. But I have to, because Sam’s mom has her car and I’m Justin’s ride home. This shit sucks. I’m already dreading it.

After I check to make sure I’ve got all my shit–phone, wallet, keys, cigarettes–Mack pulls me into his arms before I head out the door. Slides a hand over my cheek, pecking me softly on the lips with a few kisses. “I know you said you can’t stay,” he starts, and I take a breath, “But that don’t mean this has to end. You can go on back to my brother if you want to, I don’t care. I’ll still be here. Any time you want me. But I’m warnin’ you, Len, if you _ever_ set foot in this house, the minute you walk through that door you’re _mine_.”

He touches our foreheads together, staring into my eyes. He brushes my cheek bone with his thumb.

“You hear me?” he says. “You come here, you’re mine, you ain’t his. You belong to _me_. I don’t care if my brother’s sittin’ two fuckin’ feet away, right there on that couch. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” I breathe, heart raging in my chest. Because what Mack is telling me is not a threat.

It’s a _promise_.

“You’re damn right,” he says to me. “And any time you want me, I’m yours.”

Mack kisses me one last time before he lets me go and I walk out the door. I get to my car and start it up. My heart’s still pounding. I’ve got a few more minutes to kill before I’m way too late for Justin’s liking, so when I pull away from the park I turn left instead of right and once I get on the highway, I pull off the road onto the shoulder and kill the engine. I choke up a little, and with no one around to see them, I let the tears fall. Everything Mack said to me bounces around in my head, and I let it drop.

Turns out my perfect guy really _is_ perfect for me.

And I don’t deserve him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	13. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The counselor’s lip twitches a little when he starts describing in detail our boring sex life, and not that I think this woman’s homophobic, but I mean, come on, what person is really going to want to hear about anal with a person they just met?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["I Fucking Hate You"–Godsmack](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=sS8lZSPIW9Y&feature=share)

I rest my head on the steering wheel of my car and break down. I’m not usually so emotional like this, but despite the fact that I smoked and I’ve still got weed in my system, I’m a wreck. This is not the direction I anticipated my life would go, and I don’t know how to deal with it. No longer do I feel trapped in my own body, but in this moment, I feel like I’m trapped in someone else’s. Like I’m living someone else’s life and this isn’t my own.

That’s the only way I can explain it. I don’t know if it was my honesty with Mack that opened me up emotionally and made me so vulnerable, but I know I don’t like this feeling. I mean, this is why I usually try to disconnect from people, instead of opening up I keep that shit to myself and shove it to the back of my mind. I push it away. Because I know better than to let myself feel these kinds of things. I know it only leads to hurt. But I can’t help it.

Mack is the closest thing I’ve ever had to love. Besides my grandma, I have had no one in my life that made me feel like they care, like they need me, like they want me, like I matter. Like my happiness actually matters to them. I know it’s not love, but it’s close to that. And no one but my grandma has ever made me feel like that, but she’s gone, and for years I’ve felt like a husk, empty and incomplete… Until Mack. And it fucking scares me.

I’ve never needed someone before. I always thought I was strong enough to handle life on my own. Maybe have friends, like Lee, Andy and Smoke, but I never needed to get close to someone. But Mack, he’s like a drug all by himself and I’m hooked on him. My brain is telling me I need this, even if I don’t actually want it, and the feeling is too powerful. I can’t let go of it. Now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t turn back. I can’t let it go.

I can’t put the lid back on my emotions now that they’re free.

It’s kind of therapeutic, actually, the way I’m feeling right now. Like I’ve had an epiphany. Because I realized that I will never be happy with my life the way it is now, shoved into this box, constricted like I am. But it also hurts, because I also realized that I may never have what I want, and even if I did, I don’t deserve that kind of happiness. I’m fucked up, man. I may not be an abusive asshole, but I’m still a piece of shit and I know that.

I know I don’t deserve to be loved, and I shouldn’t want that. Maybe that’s why I’ve never had it, because the god I used to believe in decided I shouldn’t have it. Fuck, maybe he’s punishing me for not believing in him anymore, I don’t fucking know. I don’t know what I believe. I only know what I can see right in front of me, and that’s a very narrow viewpoint. An eye of a needle, slowly closing.

Eventually I pull myself together and swing by the call center where Justin works. I’m back on autopilot by the time I pull into the parking lot. Just going through the motions, once more like I’m trapped in my head and some unseen force is driving me forward. Justin takes forever when he comes outside, standing there talking to his coworkers in the parking lot, like I’m not waiting for him, and I honk the horn.

He shoots me a glare, then continues talking like I’m not even there. It’s not until one of his coworkers says something, pointing at me, and he glances back at me, sighing and rolling his eyes. He waves at them and makes his way to my car, flops down in the passenger’s seat and slams my door. I start the engine. Justin doesn’t say a word to me–still giving me the silent treatment–and keeps his eyes on his phone, fingers rapidly typing as he texts.

I turn the radio on, change the station to rock music, and finally that gets him to talk. “Turn that shit off!” he snaps.

I grip the steering wheel tightly. I know what he’s doing. He’s fucking _begging_ for a fight. I’m too exhausted for this shit, so I just turn it off and keep driving, not saying a word. We’re silent for a while, and all I hear is the sound of the car as we go along, occasionally I hear Justin chuckling at whatever he’s reading on his phone. Probably texting Sam, like the fake ass little bitch he is. I tune him out to the best of my ability, thinking about other things.

I think about messaging Lee when we get to the apartment, asking her if the school she goes to offers online classes, and if they would work with my schedule. If there are any government programs I can apply for that would help me pay for the courses. When we pull up in the parking lot, Justin gets out first, slams my door again, and marches ahead of me, and quickly walks inside. I follow and watch as he heads straight for the bedroom.

He comes back out with my pillow and tosses it on the couch, then turns and immediately walks back to the bedroom and shuts himself inside. I walk up to the door and try to open it. He fucking _locked_ it. This right here should have me so pissed I’m busting the door down to get inside, but for some reason it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because I’m tired, but maybe also because it’s kind of a relief to not have to deal with Justin right now.

With a sigh I head back to the living room and curl up on the couch. I browse Pornhub for a little while, but I don’t even feel like jerking off, so eventually I exit the site and go to something else. Facebook first, and I see that I have one unread message from someone. Suddenly I’m not that that tired, and suddenly I’m on edge, because it’s Mack. ‘Hey, what’s goin’ on? Everything ok?’

‘Yeah, I’m ok,’ I text. ‘Just got home. Justin locked me out of the bedroom. Lol.’

‘Well damn. What the fuck he do that for?’

‘I don’t know. But he’s not talking to me, so at least I don’t have to hear him bitch.’

‘Silver lining.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you think about what I told you?’

I sigh when I read that. Yes, I’ve thought about it. And it’s that thought that has me so twisted up right now. My chest tightens when I think about it and I feel myself start to panic again. I take deep breaths to keep calm, then smear a hand across my face, before I respond. But just as I’m typing my reply, I see Mack’s typing again as well. The little dots bounce up and down before my phone dings and I read the message.

‘You don’t have to decide now,’ he says. ‘Just please think about it, Len.’

‘I will,’ I text.

‘Alright.’

‘Going to bed. I’ll text you tomorrow. K?’

‘K. Night.’

I drop my phone on my chest and squeeze my eyes shut.

I fall asleep that night and dream about Mack.

* * *

Therapy is not something I would recommend for everyone. It requires you to be comfortable sharing intimate details of your life with a complete stranger. But on Wednesday, Justin and I go to the couples’ counselor he made an appointment for us to see. We got lucky because Justin’s health insurance covers the cost, and so it’s not any cash coming out of our pockets to download all our problems onto this stranger.

Her name is Michelle, and she seems really nice. I think she might be a smoker, because she chews the end of her pen a lot. Nicotine makes people fidget. Andy’s girlfriend Amy is an incessant nail biter, chews her nails to bits when she doesn’t have a cigarette, and when Justin first quit smoking he relentlessly tapped his foot like he was impatient. It makes you moody and restless. Miss Michelle, our counselor, seems a little restless.

But she’s polite, and smiles at us both. She does her best to make both of us feel comfortable, and she just seems like the kind of person who has a great sense of humor. I like her already. She shifts a little in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, and taps her gnarled pen on her clipboard. Most therapists usually keep a notepad so they can take notes, sometimes to highlight problem areas, but sometimes just to keep track for next session.

You’re not going to resolve matters in the first session, maybe not even the second or third. Mostly, the first session is to just introduce yourself, talk a little bit about yourself, so that you and your therapist can build somewhat of a rapport, which is the start of healthy, honest and open communication. It took me a long time in my group counseling sessions before I was ready to open up, so the process takes a lot of patience.

Michelle is probably the epitome of patience under normal circumstances, but as soon as she asks, “So, where would we like to start?” And that’s the moment Miss Michelle has met her match. Because immediately Justin jumps into it, and goes on one of his tangents. He starts from the beginning and in the span of twenty minutes, catches Michelle up on the last eight years of our lives. And he goes into way, _way_ too much detail.

The counselor’s lip twitches a little when he starts describing in detail our boring sex life, and not that I think this woman’s homophobic, but I mean, come on, what person is really going to want to hear about anal with a person they just met? She’s aware that we’re gay men in a relationship, but she starts fidgeting just a little more restlessly as Justin describes it. My leg starts bouncing a little, because I’m uncomfortable too, and trying not to snap at him.

I want to cut in and say that the only reason the sex is boring is because that’s what Justin wants, but…Fuck, what would be the point? Justin would just find away to be right about everything, because right now he’s making it sound like it’s my fault, like I don’t pay him enough attention, and I don’t even care about his feelings. He tells her we don’t communicate, and the times we do talk, all we do is argue.

Michelle is watching me part of the time Justin nags, and sees my leg bouncing restlessly. She holds up a hand, stopping Justin. “Are you okay?” she asks me, and I start to open my mouth but Justin interrupts me.

“Oh he’s fine,” he says. “His leg does that sometimes. So _anyway_ …”

And he goes on.

And on.

AND ON.

He bulldozes right over top of me, doesn’t let me speak, and even interrupts the therapist a few times too. And every time she tries to ask me, “And how do _you_ feel about that?” Trying to give Justin the queue to let me talk too, he answers for me, just like he does at home and around our friends. I have to say one thing, at least he’s not being fake right now. He’s just laying all out in the open for this stranger to see. She’s getting a taste of what our relationship is like, day to day.

And _man_ does he make me look like shit.

Just as I suspected he would, he makes me sound like this abusive asshole. No, he doesn’t lie and say I hit him or something, but as he’s describing our fights, he words it in a way that makes me look like this degenerate, that he in no way instigated the fights whatsoever, and he just _can’t_ understand why I’m always so mean to him even though he’s so loving and supportive. He just _can’t_ understand how I can be this way.

Michelle stares at me the whole time, and I can’t imagine what she’s thinking, but the face she makes is not judgemental, to my surprise. She doesn’t seem like she’s immediately condemning me, but her expression is just too neutral for me to be certain. She’s supposed to be neutral, supposed to be a mediator and not take sides until she understands enough of the situation to see what the actual problem is, and she’s doing too good of a job at it.

Eventually the hour comes to an end, and Michelle sucks in a deep breath, then tells us we’ll have to pick this up the next scheduled appointment, and I’ve never been so relieved. I didn’t say one fucking word this whole time and I’m ready to go outside and have a cigarette, then go home and drown myself in the bathtub. We get home that afternoon and I flop down on the couch, but Justin flops down next to me.

“I really feel like we’re getting somewhere,” he says, like he’s not upset with me, and even smiles at me. “I mean, I think today went well, don’t you?” Yeah, only because he got to talk shit about me for an hour and nobody said anything about it. I stare at him for a second or two, and he gets this surprised, confused look on his face, like he doesn’t know what the problem is. “Babe, what’s wrong?” he asks, putting his hand on my arm like he’s concerned.

He doesn’t want me answering that honestly. “Nothing.”

“Whatever it is, it’s _not_ nothing,” he says. “Something is definitely bothering you. What is it? Talk to me.” He rubs my arm affectionately. What does he want? He’s got to want something right now, because he’s being uncharacteristically nice to me. Probably just happy he got his way, but this feels really weird. I mean, is he actually trying to fix things between us, you know, like be affectionate for a change, or is this a trap?

I sigh a little. “I just, I thought we were both going to talk, babe, and you didn’t even let me say anything.”

Justin huffs and rolls his eyes. “Of course. _Of course_!” he snaps. “Because everything has to always be about _you_ , doesn’t it?!” He jumps up from the couch. “You weren’t even listening to _anything_ I said today, were you? Like you don’t even care how I feel! Because all this is about is Lenny, Lenny, Lenny! And it’s _never_ about Justin! Heaven forbid we talk about Justin for a change! You’re so _fucking_ selfish!”

He turns, marches to the bedroom, and slams the door.

What the fuck just happened? Like, Justin is a dude, so it’s not like it’s his time of the month, but I swear this is like some PMS shit right here. I lean back on the couch and stare at the wall, processing this. Like, my brain has whiplash so bad right now, I can’t even think straight. I don’t know what just happened. But Justin literally started an argument and walked out of the room on me for no fucking reason. No reason at all.

I make dinner. Justin doesn’t eat it. Instead, when he finally comes out of the bedroom, he quietly sulks on the couch, scrolling through his phone, ignoring me. “Babe, are you gonna eat?” I ask from the kitchen, and he doesn’t answer. “Babe, you’ve gotta eat. Just come in here and eat something please.” Still no answer, and when I go into the living room I see that he’s crying. “Justin, what’s wrong?” I ask, reaching to comfort him.

“Just leave me alone,” he says, jerking away from me.

“Babe–”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” he snaps.

I clench my fists and bite back my anger at the way he acts. All that bullshit about me not being affectionate and hows it’s only about sex comes to the forefront of my mind. Justin doesn’t actually _want_ to fix this, does he? No, he wants there to be something wrong. He’s not bitching at me so I right my wrongs and try to repair our relationship. He’s bitching just so he can have something to complain about.

I sit back in my seat, then pick up my plate and fork, concentrating on my meal. Justin ignores me and keeps his eyes on his phone until mine vibrates on the coffee table. He sits up, peering at my screen to see who’s calling. Then he does something that _really_ pisses me off. When I reach for my phone, he snatches it off the table first, and looks at the caller. “Why the fuck is my brother calling you?” he asks. I scowl at him.

“Probably because he wants to talk to me,” I growl. “Gimme my goddamn phone.” I reach for it, but he jerks it away and answers my phone.

“Hello?” There’s a pause. “Yeah, he’s right here.”

Finally, he hands me my phone, glaring at me like he’s suspicious of me. Like he suspects something’s up. Why the fuck is he paranoid about Mack calling me? He knows we’re friends. We have more in common with each other than _they_ do with each other. “Hey,” I say when I get the phone up to my ear, scowling at Justin still, before I set down my plate and snatch my cigarettes and lighter off the table as an excuse to go outside.

“Why the fuck was my brother answering your phone?” he asks me.

“’Cause your brother doesn’t know how to mind his own goddamned business,” I say when I’m outside. I light up a cigarette and take a drag. “So what’s up.”

“Not much. That’s what I was about to ask. So you two went to counseling today?”

I sigh. “Yeah,” I say with a nod, then puff on my cigarette. “Man, that shit was fuckin’ nuts.”

“You want to talk about it?”

I smile a little, shaking my head when I hear this. Pretty fucked up when my boyfriend wants to shut me out, but then his brother turns around and asks me if I want to open up and talk about shit. I park my ass on the plastic lawn chair beside the railing and I spill my guts. I don’t go into any tremendous detail, but I tell Mack about Justin steamrolling my ass in therapy today. “And now we’re back to not talking again,” I finish. He sighs.

“Dammit, Len, I know he’s my baby brother, but why don’t you just knock him the fuck out?” he asks, and I chuckle a little.

“You know I can’t do that,” I say. “He’s too delicate. He ain’t like me, he can’t take a beating like I can.” What I just said must’ve put a dirty thought in Mack’s head because he hums a little, like he’s thinking about just how much my _ass_ can take a beating. “Man, get your mind out of the gutter,” I chuckle. So does he. “But… thanks for listening,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

“Any time,” he tells me.

“So what’s been going on with you?”

Mack proceeds to tell me about some bullshit he had to put up with today at work. They’re rewiring a house this week, stripping out the old and putting in new electrical that’s up to date and safe to use. The guy they’re doing the work for, who owns the house, is complaining about the way they’re doing it. He wants them to cut corners to save him money, but he doesn’t get just how dangerous that is, and Mack’s pissed.

He’s the supervisor on the job site, so he’s the one that’s been having to deal with this guy, and about fifty times today he’s had to stop himself from strangling this guy with his bare hands. Then, after that, he asks me what I’m getting into tomorrow. Just work, then I was going to go over to Smoke’s, is what I tell him. “Was gonna head out to Smoke’s too,” he tells me. “So I’ll see you over there?”

“Yeah,” I say, and my heart thumps.

I know what’s going to happen tomorrow.

I might go to Smoke’s, but I’m not staying there.

I’m going back to Mack’s house.

When I get inside, Justin’s in the bedroom, and I hear him talking to someone. I don’t know who, but I assume it’s Sam. I see that once again my pillow is on the couch, along with my phone charger laying on top of it. I go to the bedroom door and once more it’s locked. I lay my head against the door to hear the conversation. “No, babe, I can’t,” I hear Justin hiss. “I already told you, I can’t. I-I have to go, I think Lenny’s back.”

Well, that sounds suspicious, doesn’t it?

What is Justin hiding from me?

I would bang on the door and demand that he tell me what’s going on, who he’s talking to, and why he’s acting like this, but I stop myself.

If someone asked me what I’m hiding, I wouldn’t want to answer either.

But I have this strange feeling that I’m not the only one keeping secrets anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	14. Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Dammit, I wish you could stay,” I hear. “Always seems like the second I’ve finally got you, I gotta let you go again.” He presses his lips to the side of my head. “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he admits._  
>  _I don’t know what to say to that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Get Stoned"–Hinder](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=T21joIGOOlk&feature=share)

I used to think life was complicated. You know, when I was living my double life of pretending to be straight, going to work and places like Smoke’s house pretending to be just your average straight white trailer trash, listening to comments about how my fucking roommate’s a fucking fairy and like how can I possibly stand him. But then going home and living the sad existence of your average closeted gay male who’s boyfriend constantly nags, and gets on his case about every single thing he says and does.

Then my double life tripled.

I thought shit was bad before, but I never knew just how easy I had it.

There’s the version of me that clocks in at work, where one of my co-workers wants to show me some pic on his phone of some half naked chick like, ‘Dude this bitch is so hot,’ and I’m like, ‘Eh, I’ve had better.’ Where Lisa and Mike nag me about being single and ask me how come I haven’t settled down yet and found a nice girl. Then there’s the version of me that goes home and pretends to give a shit about my boyfriend’s Instagram photos and memes, that suffers pop music and vegan food.

And then…there’s the real me.

The me I only get to be with Mack.

I used to think life was complicated, but I didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about.

I took that shit for granted, honestly. That I could just skate through life being what everybody else assumed me to be, keeping the real Lenny locked up deep inside, until I got a taste of what life could be like just being myself, and now I’m caught between wanting to run to that, and run away from it. Because Mack gets me. The second I walk through the door and step inside his trailer it’s like a huge weight has been lifted, all my stress just rolls off my shoulders, and I’m right where I should be.

And it’s not always just sex either. Sometimes, when I walk through the door, Mack sweeps me into a hug, kisses my forehead, asks me if I’m hungry, and we just talk about our day while we whip up something in the kitchen. I think that’s the crazy part. That fucking around with Mack doesn’t just feel like I’m having an affair, but more like having a second boyfriend on the side. No. Scratch that. Not just having a boyfriend. More like having a husband. A life partner.

Dare I say it, a soulmate.

A second home I go to, where I hide and live in this little bubble of happiness.

Where the rest of the world doesn’t even fucking exist.

I know this might sound crazy, but sometimes I feel like I’m cheating on Mack with Justin, not the other way around. And I know it’s wrong to run to Mack, then turn around and run right back to Justin, and all I’m doing is driving the blade in deeper, but Mack doesn’t mind. (Most of the time.) Most days he seems content with the time he has with me, like maybe I’m not the only one that pretends Justin doesn’t exist the second I walk through the door…But then other days…

I don’t know. It’s not like he bitches at me, or whines about me running back to his brother. Doesn’t say one motherfucking word about it actually. He never pushes me, or makes me feel like I have to choose. He just lets me take shelter in his life when I need to get away from my own. He tells me stories about his dad. Still doesn’t talk about his mom, but I don’t ask, and he doesn’t ask about my dad either. Tells me about all the crazy shit he’s gotten into with Smoke and Andy over the years.

Turns out we’re not that different. I could always tell that Mack’s like me and has a temper, one that he does his utmost best to keep under control, (Which is why he’s always so quiet, because he knows if he opens his mouth, bad shit happens) but hearing the stories just confirms my suspicions. We talk about books and movies and life. He bugs me about going to school. I tell him Lee’s helping me find a good college that will work with my schedule, and helping me decide on the classes I want to take.

Some days we just spend the afternoon cuddling on the couch, watching tv, not saying a word. I just lay on his chest and hum contentedly while he cards his fingers through my hair. Part of me wants this all the time. To not have to go back to my other lives and just stay in this one forever. But I tell myself that if I left Justin, and moved in with Mack, eventually the novelty would wear off and Mack and I would get pretty sick of each other. At least like this, Mack and I each have our space when we need it.

And we actually miss each other. We wouldn’t if we were around each other all the time, would we? I mean, we’d both go to work, and have our business to take care of, but coming home to the same person every night gets old, right? Like, all I ever see from couples that have been together for years is how much they resent each other after so many years. I never see people that are so happy with each other that even years later, they’re still so happy and in love like a couple of teenagers.

Except my grandma. She was the only person I ever saw that loved just one person, so deeply. My grandpa. He passed away when I was two, but she told me stories about him. And she never got remarried. I asked her once when I was little how come she never got married. She told me it was because she would never have a love like that again. Nothing could replace it. ‘But grandma, aren’t you lonely?’ Eight year old me asked. She just shook her head and smiled.

‘No, sweetie. Because I know your grandpa’s up there, watchin’ over us. Nobody’s ever really gone.’

Paul Marks was the love of Brenda’s life, and nothing and no one could ever replace him. Plus, she had me. I was handful (obviously) and raising me was a full time job that kept her pretty busy. So it was just the two of us. And I wonder sometimes if Mack could be that. The love of my life, the one man I could spend the rest of my life with. But then the sensible part of my brain takes over and says, ‘You’re a dumbass. You really think you have a future with the guy fucking his brother’s boyfriend?’

Like, he gives zero shits about hurting his brother like that. Which tells me this guy is not the kind of guy I should be spending the rest of my life with. Because what if one day he decides I’m no longer what he wants and he does that to me? Turns around and fucks other people behind my back, just like we’re doing now? And how could he ever trust me either, when he knows who I run back to when I leave? How could that ever work?

But then there are times (These tiny, seemingly insignificant moments that almost go unnoticed) that I see something in his eyes that scares me. For just a second, just a split second, I see something poke through his mask of ‘I don’t give a shit’. Something a little like regret. For just that small increment, I see sadness. Heartbreak. I see a man that’s only pretending to not care. Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see. I mean, when I leave, does Mack lay awake at night, thinking about me?

Wishing I was there instead of with his brother?

Does he ever hang his head in his hands and wish he could take it all back?

Does he hate himself and how his life turned out, because he’s so fucking selfish just like me, and wants me so bad he can fucking taste it?

Does he feel that twinge of guilt like a pin prick behind his eyes when he talks to his brother?

Does he hurt so bad he wishes he never met me? But the second I show up at his house, he loses control and all better sense, and suddenly all he wants is to hold me and never let me go? I know, it’s fucking stupid. The whole thing is stupid. And that’s horrible to want Mack to be hurting like that. But it’s only because part of me feels like I am. I feel like every time I leave, I’m chipping away little pieces of Mack as I go. Because that’s how I feel. And I wonder if he feels the same.

Or am I just deluding myself?

Because Mack makes me feel everything I’ve ever wanted to feel, so much so that it scares me. He gives me all the things I’ve been scared to take for fear of being hurt, or hurting someone else. Those fantasies I’ve had, brought to life. And not just the sex either. But the sex too, it’s fucking great. Every time I’m with Mack, it’s like he knows exactly what I need. And every way he touches me fucking lights me up. And there are even times when he’s not even rough, and he still gets me going.

Because there are times when he doesn’t want to be rough. I can always tell when Mack wants to go slow, take things easy, because he gets this look in his eyes. It’s the way he pulls me in his arms, stares down at me, and pecks me on the lips (sometimes my nose, which is fucking adorable) and it’s the way he looks at me, the way he kisses me, that I know this time’s gonna be slow, Mack’s gonna to take his time, and I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.

Because there are those few times when I don’t want to be rough either, and it’s like he knows that too. I don’t know if it’s something about the way I’m looking at him that he sees (I’m not very good at hiding my feelings around Mack), but it’s like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I wonder sometimes, do I make him feel the same way? Like, this is exactly what he wants? Do I ever make him feel like I know him inside and out, and give him things no one else ever could?

I wonder about that one afternoon as we’re hanging out in the kitchen. I’m off work today, but Justin had to work so he took my car, and Mack picked me up in his truck. We’ve been hanging out, talking, while Mack does the dishes, but for the last five minutes it’s been quiet between us. I’m sitting at the counter, smoking a cigarette, staring at the back of Mack’s navy blue t-shirt, thinking about shit. With a spark of some innate desire, I stamp out my cigarette and stand up.

We fucked about an hour ago, but we’ve both had time to rebuild and I want more. I slowly approach Mack and as he’s scrubbing silverware, then tossing it in the rinse water, I slip my arms around his waist from behind and hug him close. I hear him hum in approval as I nuzzle his back and rub his chest. I start to reach under his shirt to feel skin, and hear Mack reach for the towel, dry his hands, then place his over mine. They’re warm and soft from dish soap and scalding hot water.

He exhales a deep sigh as I let my fingers wander over him, then reach around to lift up the back of his shirt and press light kisses to his spine. He shivers a little at that, and slowly turns around to face me, wrapping his arms around me. He pulls me close to his chest, kisses my forehead and then just rests his chin on top of my head and I squeeze my eyes shut. I have found my solace. This shit. This shit right here, this is my heaven. This is my shelter. I pull away a little and look up at him.

He stares down at me with an indiscernible expression. Some mix of lust and maybe even a little like love that makes my heart race. I bite my lip, and take him by the hand, backing up and wordlessly leading him out of the kitchen. He follows. There’s not even a question about it. No need for an explanation. Silently follows me back to his bedroom like he would trust me with his life and blindly follow me anywhere I’d lead.

Slowly we strip down as we’re kissing, and pull him down on the bed on top of me. I know this might seem strange, because I don’t normally go for this kind of thing, but right now I kind of want to know what it’s like to make love. Not that dirty kinky rough sex isn’t love if you’re doing it with someone you love, I don’t mean it like that, but I just mean, you know, the soft slow passionate shit you see in movies where you stare deeply into someone’s eyes. That shit.

I’ve never had that. Not to kill the mood here by bringing up my bitchy boyfriend, but Justin likes that slow romantic stuff, but never makes me feel like we’re making love. I think it’s because we’re not, actually. Yeah sure, I’m on top and we make out and stuff, but my mind is always somewhere else. And lately I’ve been thinking that maybe Justin’s mind is too. Like, when he closes his eyes he’s picturing someone else. The guy he’s trying to turn me into. The perfect guy for him, whoever that is.

But when I close my eyes all I can see, feel, hear, taste, is Eddie Macintosh. And I open them. When I do, he’s there, in the real world, not just my fantasy, and he bites his lip, staring at mine. I lift my head to kiss him. Softly. Bold enough in this moment to reach out for once and grab what I want, even if it’s just for a second. Love. Or at least something eerily similar. I snatch it up and hoard it like a fucking pack rat. Mack kisses me slowly, but deeply, arms snaking around me, and I almost lose my breath.

I wrap my arms around his neck like a fucking python and no matter how close I get, it’s like it’s never close enough. Like the only way I could be satisfied is if I’m crawling inside him, under his skin, flowing through his veins, through every part of him. Living and breathing his essence. Maybe he really does feel the same because as I hold him tight, so does he, until we’re flush with one another and there isn’t even a fraction of an inch of space between us.

As I breathe, he breathes, matching each breath in sync like we’re one person. Not just two people entwined, but one single, solid entity, like two parts of a well oiled machine. Like this connection between us is not just physical, not just because we’re friends who have a lot in common and really like hanging out together. Mack breaks the kiss and stares down at me. And for that moment, that split second, it’s like that invisible thread of a connection just reached my soul.

For a split second, my heart pounds like crazy in fear. I’ve never been this scared before. Not in any fight I’ve ever been in have I been this scared. Because I’m not in a fight. I’m not staring into the face of some colossal and terrifying enemy. I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into an abyss. When Mack’s eyes lock with mine, I feel that sensation as I stand on the precipice of something greater and my heart jumps right to my throat. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

This is everything I’m most deeply afraid of.

And I have never felt more powerful facing it.

So I take the leap, and pull Mack down, into another amazing kiss, and I let go. I fade out, all those fears and doubts slipping away and just fucking take it. Jump right off that cliff and dive. Take what I want, and fucking forget about the consequences. That’s what I’m good at. These random split decisions I live to regret later, but hot damn do they feel good in the making. Mack moans in my mouth and grinds into me, hot and heavy, rock hard, and leaking precum, trembling a little, like he’s desperate.

Like if he doesn’t have me right fucking now he’ll fucking die.

I know the feeling.

I feel it too.

“Roll over,” he murmurs against my mouth, which has me curious and so I do when he lifts up a little. He rolls me over onto my stomach and presses me into the mattress, flush against me and kisses my neck and shoulder. I don’t get to face him like I wanted, but I like this too. It still feels the same, like we’re connected at the hip, just like before, but now Mack’s mouth is slowly trailing down, softly brushing against my skin, tracing my spine. His hands are light, the pads of his fingers following the trail.

He edges lower, dipping into the base of my spine and I almost jump right out of my skin at the sensation. I melt into the bed when he reaches to squeeze my ass, then massage it, fingers digging into the most sensitive areas, rolling over my hips, the apex of my thighs, and I moan when he dives in between with his tongue. Yeah. You bet your sweet fucking ass he’s tonguing mine. That’s why he wanted me to roll over, so he could make sweet, sweet love to my ass with his tongue.

I fucking love rimming. Like, it’s so dirty and yet so intimate, at the same time. So that part of my brain that loves how much of a freak like me Mack is fucking lights up at his tongue circling around my hole, and then the other part of me that craves deep emotion and intimacy also lights up. Because it does take a certain level of familiarity and comfort with someone to just be okay with sticking your tongue down there and lapping it up like an a ice cream cone.

He fucks me into oblivion with that tongue of his. And each thrust of his tongue is slow and meticulously precise. He keeps his firm yet gentle grip on both cheeks as he tongue me, until I’m whimpering like a fucking puppy. It never fails. It’s like Mack’s addicted to that sound with the way he always seeks to find ways in which he can turn me into a puddle of blubbering mush. It feels like eternity he eats me out until I’m whining and begging for him. Oh and the begging. He fucking loves making me beg for it.

Only when he hears that phrase, that helpless, “Please, baby,” does he ever let up and give me what I need. So I make it extra good for him when I whimper pathetically, “Mack, baby, please,” grinding into the bed and then pushing against his tongue trying to drive it in deeper, as if it will somehow reach. At this point I’m shaking, and I’m so hard it’s unbearable, my erection rubbing against the scratchy sheet, searching for some kind of friction to assuage the ache.

He moans against me one last time, the vibration like a shock sent straight through my system and I shudder. Then he pulls away, reaching in the nightstand for a condom, and oh thank fucking god. I’m shifting around restlessly and start to get up, but I feel Mack’s warm hand on my back, holding me down as he slips the condom on. He wants me just like this. Flat on my stomach, legs spread, ass up, fucking soaked with spit, ready and waiting. He lays back down on top of me and pushes in, slowly.

I groan. I’m still loose from being fucked to oblivion an hour ago, and before I know it I’m filled completely, Mack resting on top of me, flush against me, skin to skin. He props himself up on his elbows and fucks me slowly, staying deep inside me and I’m fucking shaking with how intensely good it feels. I already feel like I’m gonna come. But he keeps me right at that most intense moment right before I come, only I don’t. Keeps me right there, in that headspace, for what feels like hours.

And he’s there too. I feel how impossibly hard he is, and the way every muscle of his body is tight and constrained with unreleased tension, the way his breath comes out in spurts with all that effort of holding back, as he kisses and nibbles on my neck and shoulder. He’s seconds from coming, and it’s taking everything in him to resist the urge to fuck me hard and fast until he does. Sweat pours off of him and soaks the both of us with how tense he is right now from concentration.

It’s like keeping a lion in a cage, with a juicy slab of meat sitting right in front of him he’s reaching to taste, but just can’t quite wrap his claws around. Or sits and crouches and stares at hungrily, content to have it right before him, but just out of reach. I half expect to hear Mack purring. But instead he groans right in my ear, adding to my already overstimulated senses and I fall off that edge, spilling onto the sheets beneath me, shudders wracking violently through my body.

“Fuck,” I hear, and Mack speeds up a little, and I’m fucking dying. I’ve never felt anything so intense, so much so it brings tears to my eyes. It’s not quite the same as any emotion I’ve felt before during sex, not quite like the pain and degradation my brain usually latches onto. But something else. I feel Mack reach around and go for my throat, wrapping his hand around it gently. Not tight enough to cut off my air, but just there, possessively, like he really does own me. Like I’m his. And he’s mine.

I feel him come, then relax on top of me, and I realize that I really have actually been crying. My face is buried in Mack’s pillow, and tears are just pouring out of me. Before Mack can even ask if something’s wrong, and like, why I’m fucking bawling like a baby right now, I moan, “Oh my fucking god that felt so good,” and I hear him chuckle. I love that laugh. That smug fucking laugh of his when he knows he broke me. Didn’t even have to hurt me, and I’m fucking mush underneath him.

He slips out, gets rid of the condom, then immediately comes back to me, settling on top of me and holding me close. He kisses that spot right at the nape of my neck, below my hair line, and I shiver. I’m overwhelmed by this extreme desire to be snuggled, and I start squirming, rolling over beneath him. He lets me. Buries his face in my neck as I wrap both my arms and legs around him like some needy little spider monkey. Which I am. I totally am. I turn my head and nose his cheek, searching for his mouth.

He pulls away a little when I kiss him, saying, “Baby, what are you doin’. You know where my mouth just was.”

“Oh like I give a shit,” I say and keep kissing him. He half kisses, half laughs at me.

“You’re a fuckin’ freak,” he says. “God I love it.”

It’s my turn to be smug, grinning up at him.

But we do brush our teeth and use mouthwash afterwards. Mack hands me the extra toothbrush in the pack in the cabinet after we shower. (Yes, we take a shower together.) I try not to read too much into the fact that I basically now have my own toothbrush at Mack’s house. Or that I’m starting to feel more comfortable and at home here than my own apartment where I have an actual toothbrush of my own, even towels and wash cloths and body wash that are solely for my own use.

We cuddle on the couch. At least until my phone buzzes with a text from Justin asking me where the fuck I’m at. He’s off work, and I’m not home. ‘Went to Mack’s,’ I text back, because I shouldn’t have to lie about that shit. I toss my phone down beside me on the couch and let out a sigh. So does Mack. “Dammit, I wish you could stay,” I hear. “Always seems like the second I’ve finally got you, I gotta let you go again.” He presses his lips to the side of my head. “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he admits.

I don’t know what to say to that.

We’ve had this conversation before. A couple of times actually. One night I finally broke down and told him the truth. I brought a case of Heineken, Mack rolled a blunt, we got fucked up and I blurted out all my shit. And once I started, I couldn’t stop. I don’t even remember half the shit I said, I was so drunk, I just remember fucking crying, Mack holding me, rubbing my back and consoling me while I spilled my guts about how scared I was, because the only family I’ve ever had is fucking dead and gone.

How I’m scared of getting too close, scared of letting someone in, only to lose them too, and that’s when he squeezed me so tight I thought I would suffocate. Told him how Justin needs me too, how he can’t afford that apartment without me, and how I don’t want to abandon him either. Told him fucking everything. How I felt like shit because I was using Mack the way I was, and that’s when he said to me, “Baby, you’re not usin’ me. You ain’t takin’ nothin’ I ain’t willin’ to give.”

I sniffed into his shoulder and mumbled, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” I hiccuped. “I’m so sorry.”

And that’s all I remember really. But we’ve talked sober too. Mack even offered to help Justin pay for that fucking apartment if I would move in with him and stop letting Justin fucking rule my life, and that conversation didn’t go over well. Not like the argument got too heated, but both of us were pretty tense, and we just dropped the subject. Changed it, and didn’t pick it back up again, until now. But now, he says this to me, and my stomach clenches tightly in angst and fear.

I have to choose my words wisely with Mack. It’s not like cautiously stepping around Justin to avoid an argument, but it’s more like tip-toeing around a sleeping infant to avoid waking it up and making it cry. I love babies, by the way. Shut the fuck up, don’t judge me. Babies are fucking awesome. Any kind of baby, even baby animals, I fucking love them. I just want to fucking snuggle them and coo at them all day when I see them. They’re adorable, and they’re precious gifts of life that should be cherished.

They are small, innocent, helpless little beings that don’t deserve the world’s cruelty. I feel like right now Mack is my big baby of a man that I don’t want to upset. So when he tells me he wants me to stay, I know I have to let him down gently. Because lately he’s been okay, he hasn’t pushed the issue, but in these tiny subtle little ways I feel him getting restless. Like he wants me to be with him, but he doesn’t want to control me, doesn’t want to force me, and risk driving me away entirely.

He wants to let me live my life the way I want. My way, or no way at all. It’s like the Macintosh family motto or something. But I think he’s scared too. Mack has not had it easy. First he lost his mom, then he lost his dad, and it’s just him all alone in this house, and wonder if he feels just like me, like maybe the reason he is the way he is, it’s maybe because he’s afraid of getting attached, of having his heart broken. And maybe he also does care about Justin too, and doesn’t want to hurt him.

Maybe he does feel guilty, and punishes himself by watching me crawl back to Justin every night.

I don’t know, but I sigh and lean into him. “Let’s not do this right now, okay?” I say gently. He huffs, ruffling my hair. I open my mouth to speak, but Mack stops me.

“I’ll take you home,” he says, and lets me go, gathering up his cigarette, keys, and phone, shoving them into his pockets, so I do the same.

I think about shit the whole rest of the evening at my apartment, while Justin sits at the other end of the couch, both of us pretending the other doesn’t exist. That’s what it’s come down to now. Not talking, period, unless it’s in therapy. Which I still don’t get to talk, but whatever. At least we don’t argue anymore. So Justin’s nearby, and I’m scrolling through my phone, when I hear, “Okay, so we’re going to leave at ten, which means we need to up and start getting ready by nine.”

Oh yeah, that’s right, we’re going to a concert this weekend. I almost forgot. Lost in my thoughts about Mack. Justin pre-ordered the tickets ages ago. Good tickets. Shitty band. And Sam’s supposed to be going with us. Which sucks fucking balls. I don’t want to go. This whole kick I’ve been on lately about being honest with shit has me thinking maybe it’s time to start being honest with Justin too, so I lay my phone down and say, “I don’t want to go.” I fold my arms.

“What?! Babe, we’ve been planning this for weeks! What do you mean you don’t want to go?”

“I mean, I don’t want to see this band,” I says. “I fucking hate it.” Justin opens his mouth, but I quickly cut him off. Miss Michelle’s not around to look like an ass in front of, so I say, “Look just go without me. You and Sam will probably have a much better time if my ass ain’t hangin’ around, and you should be able to go out and do shit with your friends without me if you want. You shouldn’t have to have me there too, you know? I mean, don’t you want some space every once in a while?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t feel like you have to have my approval on everything, okay? Like if you want to go out with your friends without me, I should be fine with that.”

“Okay, but we already bought the tickets, Lenny. And they’re not refundable. What am I supposed to do with the extra ticket?”

“Give it to Lee,” I shrug.

“Lee hates Paramore.”

“Then give it to someone else, maybe one of Sam’s other friends. Or your friends from work.”

Justin quirks a brow at me, then takes a breath. “I…guess I could find someone who wants to go. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” I nod. “But wait, what about our ride? We were going to take your car?”

“Then take it. I don’t work this weekend.”

Justin stares disbelievingly at me. “You-you would let me take your car?”

“Yeah. Why not?” I shrug. “No big deal. Not like you don’t drive my car all the time anyway. So what’s I matter?”

And now Justin’s disbelief morphs into shock. Maybe because I’m not actually the horrible boyfriend he makes me out to be. Maybe because he has no counter argument, or maybe because he just didn’t expect me to be so objective about this. I refuse to believe he’s hurt by the fact that I don’t want to go. Confirmed when his shock then shifts into a warm, loving smile, and he says, “Awe, baby, that’s so sweet of you,” and he dives across the couch to hug me. Which is weird. “Thank you,” he sighs.

But yeah. A whole weekend free of Justin. I see a lot of video games and UFC in my future.

What I don’t expect is Mack’s sadistic laugh the next day when Justin leaves with my car, and I call him up. “What?” I ask, when I hear that laugh.

“Don’t you think for one second you’re gonna spend your weekend sittin’ at that apartment,” he says. “’Cause baby, you’re ass is mine. I’m kidnappin’ you and holdin’ you hostage for the next three days, and you bet your ass you ain’t gonna see daylight till Monday.”

“Wait for real?” I laugh.

“Hell yeah. Pack your bags. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Oh shit. A whole weekend with Mack! Fuck!

Did I die? Somebody pinch me! You! Yes you! On your fucking phone, right now, reach through that shit and fucking pinch me!

‘Cause I’m in fucking heaven!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	15. Headspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“That supposed to be some kind of irony, or some shit?” Andy asks me._
> 
> _“What, that I’m the fag, but you’re the one that’s acting like a fairy? Yeah, that’s fucking ironic as hell.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["I Don't Give A Fuck"–Buckcherry](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=HHSVOlyhq0I&feature=share)

We don’t leave the bedroom that first night. I mean, we go to the bathroom, and to the kitchen to get something to eat, but the rest of the time we hole up in Mack’s bedroom like he really is holding me hostage in his house. And we fuck like nonstop. I am completely delirious by the time Mack’s finally worn out and had enough of me. Scratch that, I think we both are. Rung out like dirty dish rags, the both of us.

I don’t need to tell you how fucking great this is; you already know how it is. But I think the best part honestly is just that I know I don’t have to be in any kind of hurry to leave, because _I’m not leaving_. I don’t have to worry about picking Justin up from work, rushing out the door after finding my keys and cigarettes, see that hurt look on Mack’s face as I’m starting up my car…nope, none of that.

Which means when we’re done, I don’t even have to get dressed. Just lay there with Mack, soaked in a pool of sweat and cum until both of us start feeling disgusting and opt for a shower. Mack rips the sheets off the bed and changes them out while I start the hot water running, and eventually he joins me. When we get done, hit the pillow and snuggle up together, we’re both out within seconds, and we don’t move the whole night.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m right where I was, Mack’s arm slung over me. Yeah, I’m the little spoon for a change. We fell asleep like that, and neither one of us shifted from that position the whole night, and even if we did, we still ended up back in that same position by the end of it. And waking up to Mack beside me is a whole new kind of heaven. With a side benefit I almost forgot about until just now.

 _Morning sex_.

What woke me up was Mack’s hard dick pressing against me, and the feel of him sleepily nuzzling my neck and kissing it, which leads to soft kisses on my shoulder. He’s horny, and so am I. I groan a little, reaching behind me to tangle my fingers in his hair. “That feels good,” I murmur, so now he knows I’m awake, and I’m not gonna make him stop. He hums, then lets his hand slide down my chest, across my stomach, and to my own hard, leaking erection.

He starts jerking my dick as he ruts against me. But he’s slow, kind of lazy about it, and he makes me think of a cat. Like, at night, he’s always an animal in bed, but during the day he’s much softer and slower. Kind of like a predator who’s nature is to hunt at night, but would rather lounge around like a lazy housecat during the day. I could totally imagine Mack laying in the sun like a housecat. He’s pretty laid back like one.

He mostly teases me at first, thumb rolling over the sensitive tip, and though my body’s still sluggish from sleep, my mind is now wide awake and racing. I jerk my hips, thrusting into his hand, needing more, and so he picks up pace. But only for so long, only until I start feeling like I could come, before he stops, and yanks on my balls, making me wince. He chuckles. “Why you gotta be so mean to me, huh?” I pout.

He sucks in a breath between his teeth and releases it in a moan as he massages my balls and says, “Maybe I just like makin’ you cry like a little bitch,” And I whimper at that. Hearing him say that hits that part of my brain that craves humiliation and degradation of any kind and latches onto that word. Because I mean it is pretty humiliating, and I would never admit to anyone just how much I enjoy it.

And hot damn do I love it when he makes me cry like a bitch.

But my reaction to the word must’ve tipped him off, because he hums again, then he says, “You like that, don’t you? You like it when I call you a bitch.”

“Maybe?” I cheekily reply, and he squeezes again, tugging on my balls until I’m whining in frustration. “F-fuck yes,” I stammer. “I fucking love it.”

He laughs again in my ear, that low, sinister grumble in his throat that I can never get enough of, and it makes me shiver. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says. He bites my ear, and it’s like a jolt sent straight to my dick, then he says, “You like bein’ my bitch.” And it’s like my reactions opened a flood gate because then he fucking _showers_ me with dirty talk while he jerks me off. As it already stands, Mack is way more verbal than me.

But now he amps it up, dials that shit to eleven, with all the dirty, demeaning things he murmurs in my ear. His tone is still somewhat affectionate, but he replaces the word ‘baby’ with ‘bitch’ and I’m fucking shaking with how close I am to coming. Things like, “Yeah, ya want it bad, don’t ya, bitch? You want me inside you, fuckin’ that tight fuckin’ ass, fillin’ you with my cum. You’re just a dirty little slut for my dick, ain’t ya?”

“Oh fuck yes,” is my breathless reply.

He teases me mercilessly until I’m begging and pleading for it, and only pulls away long enough to roll over and search his nightstand for a condom, then he’s back. He gives me what I want, with little to no warning, like our first time, he shoves it in hard, and I’m fucking whimpering when he does. Part of it is genuine, but then part of it is just playing acting. Whining and simpering like a little bitch when he fucks me.

Because he likes it too. He likes that he has this power over me, to turn me into a helpless, pathetic pile of mush, likes that I beg for his dick like a hungry little twat, that I am one hundred percent a greedy little slut for this dick, and I’m fucking loving it. He fucks me hard, reaches around and jerks my dick, and I’m so overstimulated by all the dirty talk that it doesn’t take me long to come. But here’s the crazy part.

It doesn’t take Mack very long either. Like, he was so turned on that merely seconds after I’m coming, so does he. Then we’re both sweaty, breathless, and utterly shattered. Like, this was so mind blowing of an experience that I can’t even form a proper sentence. Neither can Mack. He just pulls me as close as physically possible and holds me, catching his breath. “Goddamn,” is all he can muster, and I chuckle.

“Good morning,” I quip.

“Hell yeah it is,” he responds. Too right.

Man, if every morning with Mack is like this, I don’t think I’d ever leave.

* * *

Andy sends me a text saying him and Smoke are throwing a barbecue, wants to know if me and Mack wanna come chill. Yeah, he knows I’m at Mack’s house. If my boyfriend’s out of town? Well where else would I be? So I tell Mack, and he gives the thumbs up, so we get dressed and head on out to Smoke’s house to spend the day. It’s a nice day, so Smoke’s got the table on the back deck cleared off and the grill out.

Regardless of what Mack says about my cooking, there is nothing better in this world than Smoke’s barbecue. He’s a fucking _beast_ with that grill, I’m telling you. I could live off of Smoke’s cooking and nothing else. It’s not really a big thing, not like it’s a party, but Andy did invite all of his closest friends. His girlfriend Amy is showing up, and she’s bringing her cousin, Trevor. So Andy’s digging through his bag in the closet when I walk in.

Mack goes to put the thirty pack of Budweiser and bag of ice we brought in the cooler, and I head to the bedroom to bug Andy, flop down on the bed, and watch this motherfucker primping like a girl, which is fucking hilarious. He’s got like three or four shirts laid out, trying to decide which one he wants to wear, and he starts asking me my opinion on shit. I don’t fucking know what girls like, or what Amy would think would look good though.

“Man, you’re just as bad as Mack,” he mumbles, picking a shirt and throwing it on. “Fuckin’ useless. Like, I got two best friends that are gay an’ shit, and _still_ can’t catch a break.”

I snort at that. He finally decides on a shirt that he thinks best matches his South Pole jeans. I think he looks like a preppy bitch, but whatever. I watch as he fusses over his hair in the mirror, combing it, and he makes me think of Justin whenever he gets ready. “Oh my fucking god, dude, you’re so fucking _gay_ ,” I roll my eyes at him with how long he takes to look presentable. He glowers at me in the mirror, spritzing on cologne.

“That supposed to be some kind of irony, or some shit?” Andy asks me.

“What, that _I’m_ the fag, but _you’re_ the one that’s acting like a fairy? Yeah, that’s fucking ironic as hell.”

“Man, fuck you,” he tells me, and I laugh. So does he.

He brushes off my comments and finishes getting ready. But hey, it’s worth the effort though, because Amy is hot. She’s not a ten or anything, but she’s one of the finest looking chicks in town, and way out of Andy’s league. And she doesn’t fuck around with slobs, man. She doesn’t like prissy guys like Justin, but she likes it when her men look good, and smell good too. Andy pops the collar on his blue button up shirt and turns to me.

“Man, why don’t you ever dress nice an’ shit?” he asks me, gesturing to my appearance. I’ve still got on my black shorts, proudly wearing Mack’s black anarchy t-shirt, and a pair of Vans. I’ve still got bed head because it’s fucking Saturday, and I don’t have to care. “Like, you always look homeless an’ shit.”

“Uh, maybe ‘cause I don’t give a fuck?” I shrug.

“Well, you look like shit,” he tells me, to which I only make a ‘pshh’ sound, rolling my eyes. “Like you got hit by a mack truck or somethin’.”

I smirk a little at that. “Okay now do you hear yourself?” I ask. “Like, _really_ think about what you just said.”

Andy thinks about it. Suddenly it clicks in his mind and he grimaces. “Man, I don’t need to know that shit!” he whines and I chuckle.

Once Andy’s finally ready (Like, for real, he took fucking forever getting ready) we go outside on the back deck and shoot the breeze with Mack and Smoke. He’s got the grill fired up, and he’s laughing at something Mack said, who bends down, reaches in the cooler and hands us both a can of Budweiser. I don’t like it. It’s not my preferred brand, but Andy drinks it, and so does Amy.

Just as we settle down at the table and Andy starts rolling a blunt, his phone starts vibrating on the table, so he pauses, blunt wrap in hand, to pick it up. “Hey babe. Yeah, come on in, we’re out back,” he tells Amy and hangs up. Just in time. Minutes later the back door opens and two faces appear, all smiles. “Hey,” Andy says with a grin, and Amy walks over to the table to give him a side hug.

Like I said, Amy’s hot. Kinda tall, maybe only an inch shorter than me, nice ass, big tits, and long straight brown hair. She always wears make-up, but she’s not stuck up or anything. Not like Sam. Amy’s pretty chill. Today she’s got on a Black Label Society shirt that barely covers her tits and tiny denim shorts with flip flops. “Hey Twitchy,” she says to me with a smile and a wave as she sits on Andy’s lap.

“Hey,” I greet, and Trevor approaches. I like Trevor. He’s a baby, really, he’s only like just turned eighteen, not old enough to drink legally, but neither was I when I started hanging around Smoke and all his friends. He’s around good people though. Just like he looked after me when I was younger, Smoke looks after Trevor much the same. He drinks, but he doesn’t leave Smoke’s house, not without Amy. So it’s not like he’s out sneaking into bars.

None of us would ever let anything happen to him if we could help it.

And he’s a good kid. Kind of reminds me of me at that age. Only he’s a bit of a prep. Always wears skinny jeans and Jordans or some shit. A black hoodie pulled over a blue polo shirt. Keeps his sandy brown hair shaved on the sides and back, with the top always falling over one blue eye. But he’s also got his bottom lip pierced. One black tinted ring in the corner of his mouth that he constantly flicks with his tongue, which is also pierced.

Amy took him to get it done. His mom must’ve flipped shit when she saw that. He’s a few inches shorter than me, and rail thin, like he ain’t never even _heard_ of Big Macs and large fries, don’t even know they exist.

He’s kinda cute, but definitely not my type, obviously, because that’s Mack. And he kind of reminds me of Justin when we first met, you know, before anyone knew he was gay and he was still kind of acting like he was straight but not really. Trevor likes pop and hip-hop, worships Twenty One Pilots like I do Slipknot. But Trevor is nothing like Justin personality-wise. First off, he’s quiet. Hardly says two words when he comes around.

He’ll talk to people, like he’s not rude or anything, but he’s kind of shy. He plops down in the empty plastic chair between Mack and Andy, plucks the earbuds out of his ears, and with this quiet little voice says, “Hey,” to everybody. Mack hands him a beer. “Thanks man,” he mumbles, holding up the can in salute before cracking it open and taking a sip. I think Trevor’s gay. Just if I had to take a guess.

But he doesn’t smoke, so when Andy and Amy both hit the blunt and Andy goes to pass it to him, Trevor shakes his head, saying, “I’m good.” So Andy just shrugs and passes it to Mack instead, who hands it to me after he puffs on it. Yeah, we don’t play that peer pressure bullshit around here. We don’t shove nothin’ in people’s faces if they don’t want it. If Trevor don’t wanna smoke weed, he shouldn’t have to.

I hate people that are like that. You know, the ones that are all like, “Oh come on, man, just try it.” Or, “Come on just hit it one time.” Fuck all that shit. I hit the blunt, then hand it to Smoke who’s laying the steaks on the grill. It’s a nice fucking day, Smoke’s got the stereo in the kitchen, with the window open so classic rock music is filtering through, there’s beer, weed, good food and good company, and I just don’t think it can get any better than this.

All those little things I always stress over whenever I’m around Justin don’t even matter right now. Like, I don’t give a fuck. I really don’t. I’ve got everything I need right the fuck here. As I sip on my beer, though, I get to thinking again. Wondering why this isn’t my every day. Why I’m so afraid to have this. Why I don’t just tell Justin to fuck off and just take what I want. I shouldn’t let thoughts like that ruin my day though.

So it wasn’t supposed to be a party, just a little get together among close friends, but that’s what it ends up being. Mostly because Amy gets a texts from one of her girlfriends, who asks her what she’s getting into, and she asks if she can come over. That one chick turns into like three or four chicks. Who invite more people, who bring more food and more beer. That turns into needing a second bag of charcoal, and ten more people.

By the time the sun is setting, there’s like fifty to a hundred people out at Smoke’s house, mostly people we know though. But the living room, dining room, kitchen and back deck are all packed. I’m fucking stuffed from like four pieces of steak and a burger. I ate so much it ruined my buzz and I’m not even high anymore. But it’s fucking great. Mack and I are in the dining room, partnered up for a game of beerbong against Andy and one of his friends.

But as I’m taking my shot, and the ping pong ball lands in the cup with a plop, shit gets real loud in the living room all of the sudden. Mack and I share a look when the music shut off and soon there’s only angry shouting coming from the living room. People start crowding the doorway and I have to shove my way through to see what’s going on. And what I see makes my blood run cold.

Trevor’s backed up against the wall, terrified, as an older blond crowds him, looking like he’s about to beat him up.

Calvin Hayes. Only the second worst person on the planet.

Okay, so you guys remember how I shove that asshole Rodney Hicks into a wall? Well, that motherfucker has a sidekick. And Calvin Hayes is that redneck asshole sidekick. Now, I’ll tell you something right now, I have no problem with rednecks. You like to wear camo hats and boots? Fine. You like to ride in a jacked up truck? Whatever man. You like twangy ass country music and rockabilly shit? A-okay by me.

But when you’re all of those things _and_ you’re an asshole? You are number one on my hit list, motherfucker. “Oh FUCK no!” I shout when I see this asshole get in Trevor’s face and I march into the living room, flipping the coffee table to get to the both of them, and shit gets real quiet. Like, dead silence. Calvin steps back when I get between him and Trevor, who flattens against the wall, maybe more afraid of me than he is of Calvin.

Because as it’s been mentioned, I have a reputation in this house.

Yeah, all that shit you’ve heard about me?

Stayed tuned, because ya’ll are finally about to see just why these motherfuckers are so scared of a twitchy little fucker like me.

This asshole wants to pick a fight with one of _my_ friends?

On _my_ turf?

Hell no.

I dont play that shit.

I may be a bitch in the bedroom, but out here?

I’m the alpha dog.

And this motherfucker is about to be my new chew toy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	16. Psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You scare me,” he admits._
> 
> _Yeah, I get that._
> 
> _I’m scared of me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Psychosocial"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=DhP6xS63U1M&feature=share)

“Oh _fuck_ no!” I shout, when I see Calvin step toward Trevor, who backs up against the wall in terror, the blond haired blued eyed nineteen year old towering over him, face beet red in anger, and I am livid at the sight. Suddenly, I have tunnel vision, and Calvin is all I see. I march into the living room, flipping the coffee table out of my way, vaguely hearing empty beer cans and ashtrays hit the floor.

The room is quiet. Like, nobody is saying shit, and all eyes are on us. I wedge between Trevor and Calvin like a human body shield, and Calvin backs up. “You wanna fuck with somebody? Won’t you fuck with me, huh? I’m game,” I say, getting in his face. We’re eye to eye now. He’s fucking pissed, eyes briefly flickering to Trevor who’s flat against the wall, but I feel a brush of his hand against my back. I think he’s gripping my t-shirt actually.

Calvin’s young, and he’s lanky, but he’s still almost twice Trevor’s size, and that shit just ain’t right, if you ask me. You don’t go picking on somebody smaller like that. I mean, that’s just a bitch move. I look this motherfucker up and down, sizing him up, and I know I can take him. He might be an inch taller than me, and maybe about ten pounds heavier, but he’s obviously had a few beers more than me, one in his hand even, which might slow his reaction time.

I really don’t care if he can take me or not. I’d rather be the one that takes the hits than Trevor. Instinctively my hand reaches back to keep Trevor behind me, eyes on Calvin. I’m like a dog, man. A fucking pittbull right now, and I’m just _itching_ for Calvin to try me. Because if he so much as touches one hair on Trevor’s head, he’s a dead man. I’m not kidding. I will go to prison if I have to, if it means keeping this drunk fuck off of Trevor.

“Twitch, this motherfucker was eyeballin’ my dick, man!” Calvin drawls, pointing at Trevor.

Oh, so he’s an asshole _and_ he’s homophobic?

This just gets better and better, huh?

I look him over again. “How? ‘Cause from where I’m standin’, it looks like you ain’t even _got_ one,” I say, and a few people make ‘oooh’ sounds at that burn. Calvin scowls at me. “Man, why don’t you leave him alone,” I say. “He ain’t done nothin’ to you. Won’t you just get the fuck out of here, man. Go take your bullshit somewhere else.”

“Nah man, it ain’t bullshit!” he says to me. “He was fuckin’ starin’ at me man!”

“So?! Whatchyou a problem for, man?”

“He’s a fuckin’ cocksuckin’ fag!” he says, and honestly, I’m not all that offended. At least I don’t take it personally anyway. But I’m pissed. I may be a lot of things, but this ain’t one of them. Yeah, so I get weirded out by a lot of things gay guys do, which is why Justin says I have internalized homophobia or whatever, but if there is one thing I will not tolerate, it is shit like this. I may be an asshole, but I’m not now, nor have I ever been a bully.

And I fucking hate bullies like Calvin fucking Hayes.

I eat those son of bitches for breakfast.

If he wants to hate on Trevor for being gay, he can just fuck off for all I care. I give zero shits if taking up for Trevor makes me look some type of way to people right now. So I keep my feet planted and keep Trevor behind me.

“And you’re takin’ up for him? You some kind of fag too or somethin’?”

“Yeah, maybe I am,” I tell him, in a cocky sing-songy voice, inching closer, til I’m maybe only a fraction of an inch from his face. “So what? You got a problem with that shit? The fuck you gonna do about huh? What? You wanna piece of me? Fuckin’ punk ass little bitch! Whatchyou got?!”

“Better get the hell outta my face, man,” he threatens.

“Or what, huh? What you gonna do? Fucking come at me bro, show me what you got. I fucking dare you. You fucking limp dicked white trash redneck piece of _fucking_ shit!”

I was expecting him to hit me, but honestly I should’ve known better than to think he’d be a man about shit. He should’ve. He should’ve punched me, because then he at least might have had a shot at me. Should’ve just knocked me the fuck out before I could get a swing in, but the dumbass decides to shove me instead. I don’t give two fucks that he shoves me, but you know what does it? You know what sets me off?

He pushes me hard enough that I slam into Trevor, and I hear his head smack against the wall. Followed by a tiny hiss of pain, and that sound, _that sound_ , man, it flips my switch. He hurt Trevor, and now I want to hurt him. I’m not fully aware of my actions for a second, it’s just like this primal instinct kicks in, and I see myself go for his midriff, snatch him up, hook my leg around his knee to trip him up and fucking body slam him to the floor.

He hits the coffee table and smashes it, splitting right in two, and next thing I know, I’m straddling him and fucking pounding into him with my fist, the room around me nothing but a fuzzy haze on the edges of my vision, and my ears are ringing. I don’t hear anyone shouting at me, and what little I do hear sounds so far away, like someone’s shouting at me from across the house, even though they’re right there in the room.

I feel my fist connecting with his face, but yet I don’t feel it. I don’t really know how to describe it. Just that the next few minutes are a blur. I hit him, over and over, and over. Pretty soon all I see is blood, but I just can’t stop. Even after he’s stopped trying to get a swing in, then pretty soon stopped flailing entirely, and all he does is cover his face. I just…I gotta have _more_. But suddenly I’m ripped away and I start struggling against the person.

Arms wrap around my shoulders to hold me back and I’m kicking and elbowing this motherfucker to get at Calvin, who’s rolling on the floor, groaning, half out of it. But I’m not done with him yet, until I hear, “Len, stop. You got ‘em, man. He’s done. You hear me? He’s done.” It’s Mack, and as soon as I hear his voice, I realize _he’s_ the one I’ve been fighting tooth and nail to escape, and I still. The pounding in my ears fades, and I blink.

Voices make their way back to my awareness as the fog clears. People are murmuring to one another, staring at me. I look down and see that Calvin is a mess. “I’m alright,” I say to Mack. “Just–just let me go, man, I’m alright.” Mack reluctantly lets go and I drag in a few breaths, realizing that I’m out of breath, because I’ve been wailing on this kid with all my strength. I look around at all the faces til I see Trevor.

Still in the corner, backed up against the wall, staring at me wide-eyed. That protective instinct kicks in again, when he rubs the back of his head and I step closer. “You okay?” I ask him, my voice a little hoarse, like I’ve been screaming. He nods a little. I reach up to check the back of his head to see if he’s bleeding. He’s not, but that’s gonna hurt for a while. My hands are shaking, and I look down to see Trevor just staring at me still.

Amy shoves her way through the crowd of people to get to Trevor and wraps her arm around him. Andy’s beside her, and he acts kind of like their body guard, shouting at people to move while he leads them to the back of the house.

“Hey Mack, get this asshole out of my house,” Smoke barks, pointing at Calvin on the floor.

“Yessir,” he quips, then bends down to yank Calvin to his feet. “Come on, you heard the man, let’s go, hillbilly.” He drags him to the front door and out of the house.

“Alright everybody, party’s over,” Smoke says, and people groan. But soon they slowly file out of the house, and I stare down at the mess I made. Smoke’s coffee table is fucked. And there’s ashtrays with ashes and cigarette butts all over the floor. Beer cans and all kinds of other shit. So I bend down to start cleaning it up, when Smoke puts his hand on my shoulder. “Hey man, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Just go get yourself cleaned up.”

I nod a little, and realize I’m bleeding too. Not only am I covered in Calvin’s blood, but some of my own, because that’s how hard I hit him. Hard enough to bust my knuckles the fuck up. I’m shaking from head to toe like a fucking leaf blowing in the wind and I feel faint all of the sudden. Just dizzy really, what with all the commotion, so I go to the kitchen. I glance out the window as I’m washing up to see Andy, Amy, and Trevor out on the back deck.

They’re at the far end of the deck, on the other side of the pool, Andy’s saying something to Trevor, just before he hugs him. Trevor looks like he’s crying. I’m aggravated still. I don’t know why. But I also feel just a bit lighter, for some reason. Shit, I guess maybe it’s because I feel kind of self-righteous about shit. Like, I feel like I did a good thing, for once in my life. But I also feel guilty as sin for how I went about it.

The image of Calvin being drug away by Mack sticks in my mind. His face was all fucked up, blood pouring out of him. And I did that.

This is why people don’t fuck with me.

Because that’s what happens to them.

I’m rinsing the cuts on my right hand as Mack comes up to me and leans on the counter beside me, watching me. “You alright?” he asks, and I nod a little. “Man, that was some scary shit.”

I look up, confused. “What?” I ask, smiling a little, but he’s not.

“You,” he says. “Now I see why everybody talks about you,” he says, seriously.

I realize he’s not joking. I mean, he doesn’t look too put off by me, but he doesn’t have that easy going smile or that loose, relaxed composure. He kind of tense actually. I look him up and down for a second as I’m dabbing my hands with paper towels. I shrug a little. “I just don’t put up with nobody’s bullshit,” is all I say, but I feel really self conscious with the way Mack’s looking at me.

“You scare me,” he admits.

Yeah, I get that.

I’m scared of me too.

But it’s strange, coming from Mack.

“You’re scared of me? Man, you’re like twice my size,” I say. “And you know I could never take you in a fight.”

Mack shakes his head a little. “Len, if I hadn’t pulled you off him, you wouldn’t have stopped,” he says, and at _that_ , I think I get it. My smile fades, and my eyes drop to the floor. He’s right, I wouldn’t have. I won’t lie, that kind of bothers me too. That it’s not how big I am, or how tough I am, how talented in a fight I am, or even how mean. It’s how _unhinged_ I am when something sets me off. Pushes me past that point of no return.

When my switch flips and suddenly I’m not me anymore.

It’s a little intimidating to some.

I guess I may have been stretching the truth a little when I said I’m not psycho.

Because I think to myself that maybe I am.

I mean, maybe I’m just not right in the head, know what I’m saying?

And this is why I’m scared of hurting Justin. Because that could’ve been him. It could’ve been Justin laying in a bloody heap on the floor, if he set me off. My eyes make their way back to Mack’s face. He looks worried for me. Andy and everybody else I know is always either impressed, or fucking scared, but not Mack. Not right now. Right now, looking up at him, I see concern for me and my well being.

He’s seeing a side of me I don’t like showing to people. I’m mean, I’m really not proud of this shit. Like, at all. That’s why I try not to let it get to my head, or have an ego about it. Because who the fuck in their right mind is proud of the fact that they’re fucked up like this? Who’s gonna be proud of the fact that they should be on medication, but they don’t take it because the only medicine they can afford for this shit fucks them up way worse?

Like, I don’t want to be a fucking zombie drooling on the couch, doped up on anti-psychotics, man. I should be. I was, for a while. After I got out of lock-up I was court ordered to take anger management classes as well as private counseling sessions, and the doctor I was seeing prescribed Zoloft. I was taking that shit for about two years, but I stopped when I turned eighteen, and nobody could make me. Grandma didn’t make me either.

She knew I needed help, but being doped up on pills was not the kind of help I needed. She was scared they’d just make me an addict. Like, if I couldn’t afford my medication I would resort to street drugs and shit. Well, I kind of did. Smoke let me get high, so I smoked a lot of weed when I was coming down off my meds. I was better off for it. Like, I started feeling more like myself again. Stopped feeling like I was drowning, and started feeling okay.

But now Mack’s looking at me like I should question whether or not I’m really okay here.

I mean, am I?

Is it better to just pop pills like my piece of shit dad, or to risk going to jail because I snapped and caved someone’s head in?

I’m not even remotely worried about Calvin or anybody here tonight calling the cops on us though. Like, pretty much everybody here has got something they don’t want the cops to see, smell, or find on their person. Even Calvin. I have no doubt in my mind that boy probably had weed on him. And he’s only nineteen. He ain’t old enough to be drinking. And some folks that were here, for all I know they might’ve had coke or pills in their pockets.

“He shouldn’t have hurt Trevor,” I say to Mack, with a shrug, by way of explanation for my actions. “I may be an asshole, but I ain’t a fuckin’ bully. I don’t play that shit. He should’ve left him alone.”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll be comin’ back anytime soon,” Mack shrugs, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, some of that worry ceasing, but he’s still a little on edge. I step closer. Not too close, because people are still leaving, passing us in the kitchen on their way out, and they’re people that don’t know we’re together. They probably took my comments about being gay as nothing serious, but they would if they saw me with Mack.

But I step closer and cuff his arm, smirking a little.

“I’m alright,” I assure him, pouring as much confidence into that statement as I can, even if I myself don’t even believe it. “But now you get why I don’t go off on your brother, huh?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I can understand that.” He sighs, eyes darting over mine, looking like maybe he still has questions about me. Like maybe wondering just what happened to me to make me so screwed up like I am. Maybe one day we’ll talk about it. But for right now, I just want to roll a joint, crack open a beer, and chill out. I don’t want to open up right this second. So I toss the blood soaked paper towels in the trashcan and walk out.

I’m out on the front porch as Amy and Trevor are leaving. I watch Amy hug Andy and walk to the car. Andy goes back inside, but Trevor hangs around for another minute, looking like he wants to say something to me. He walks over to where I’m leaning against the banister, smoking a cigarette. I stand up. Trevor still looks spooked, but at least he isn’t eyeing me like I’m a rabid dog about to rip his throat out. Just other people’s throats.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he mumbles, acting all shy. Man, he’s just too quiet. I’m really not used to it. “Thank you,” he says to me. “You know, for taking up for me like that.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. I puff on my cigarette. “Calvin Hayes is a fuckin’ punk,” I tell him. “You ain’t gotta be scared of him.”

“He was right though,” Trevor says, I raise a brow. I figured as much. His eyes drop to the floor, like he’s ashamed. “I mean, I wasn’t, like, staring at his dick or something, like I’m not even attracted to him, but…I’m…I’m gay,” he admits to me. He’s bunched up defensively, like he awaits my harsh judgement. Like I’m about to say, ‘Well, had I known that, I’d have let him beat the shit out of you then.’ No. Fuck no.

“That ain’t no excuse for the way he acted,” I say. “Man, we don’t play that game around here. He can take all that homophobic bullshit elsewhere, know what I’m sayin’? Like, what you do and who you fuck with is your business, man. I mean, if you were like in the bathroom tryna rape some dude, we might have a fuckin’ problem. But don’t worry about what people think about you, man. ‘Cause it ain’t none of their goddamned business.”

Trevor nods a little, but then out of nowhere he starts tearing up, and sniffing. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” I say, and I know I don’t do that whole hugging bullshit, but this boy needs a hug. Like, right now. So I pull him to me, and hug the shit out of him. “It’s alright.” I feel him sniffling against my shirt. Like, this kid is a wreck and desperately needs some reassurance right now. I pat his back a few times.

“Hey,” I say, pulling away a little and looking down at Trevor. “I’m gonna tell ya somethin’.”

He sniffs. “What?”

“It’s advice that I was given by someone, the advice his dad gave him. He said to me, ‘You gotta live your life your way, or no way at all, otherwise we’re wastin’ our time’.” Trevor peeks up at me when I give him Mack’s advice. Eddie Sr’s dying words to his son. “Be who you want to be, Trev. Not who you have to be, just to please other people. It ain’t easy, but honestly, there wouldn’t be a point to shit if everything were just that easy.”

Trevor sniffs. “Okay,” he said. “I think I get what you mean.” He pulls away, but he doesn’t look like he’s ready to leave still. Takes a deep breath, then says. “Andy told me that you’re…uhm…That you’re…”

“That I’m a fag,” I guess, and his lip twitches at the word.

“That you’re gay, yeah,” Trevor says with a fervent nod.

“Yeah,” I say.

“I won’t say anything to anybody,” he tells me. “But uhm, just…you know, like I just wanted to say I’m like, proud. Of you. For, you know, for all that. Like, what you did, what you said to Calvin. All that stuff. Thank you.”

“No problem,” I shrug. “I know I’m an asshole an’ shit, but…I got your back.” He smiles a little. About that time though, Mack comes out the front door and Trevor jumps away from me, clearing his throat. “Relax, man,” I tell him. “Mack’s cool, he knows.” Trevor’s eyes go from mine to Mack’s, then back to mine. I chuckle a little. “He’s on our side,” I say. Trevor mouths an ‘oh’, snickering at shaking his head at himself.

“I’ll see you later, Lenny,” he says. Then he does something that surprises me a little. He reaches up and pecks my cheek with a kiss before he turns and leaves, walking to Amy’s car. Mack sidles up beside me and we watch them pull away.

“I think somebody’s got a crush on you,” Mack mumbles to me. “Better let him down easy, baby.” I chuckle at that.

“Yeah, I might have to,” I say.

“That was a helluva thing you did for him, stickin’ up for him like that," he commends me.

I rub the back of my neck, then slick the hair out of my face with a huff. “He’s a good kid. Kinda reminds me a little of myself.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, just…like, a little bit of how I was when I was eighteen.”

Mack snorts. “Hell, you were an asshole even then,” he comments. I snort at that.

I was. I was most definitely a cocky asshole like I am now. If not worse than I am now. I’ve mellowed out some since then, but back when I first met Mack, I was a douchebag, and I knew I was. “Yeah, but now I’m just an asshole when I have to be,” I say. Mack chuckles a little at that. Eventually Smoke and Andy come outside, Andy with his hands full of fresh, cold, sweating cans of Budweiser for each of us.

We crack them open and I hear Andy sigh.

“Gotta love it when Twitch comes to a party,” he comments. “But, like, for real, bro, did you really have to wreck the coffee table?”

“Man, shut the hell up,” Mack groans, and I don’t know why but that gets me laughing. “You bought that thing for twenty bucks at a thrift shop.”

“Yeah, but like, it was old an’ shit. Could’ve been an antique.”

“Don’t stress about the little things, man,” Smoke advises. “Gotta look at the _bigger_ picture.” He spreads his arms wide as he spouts his bit of wisdom.

“Yeah, and what’s that?” Andy asks.

“That you don’t fuck with family, man,” he says, then sips his beer.

“Damn right,” Mack agrees.

“Yeah, shit, anybody fucks with us, we got our own personal psychopath to sick on ‘em.”

I roll my eyes. But I smile a little. Andy makes my crazy sound like a good thing.

Maybe tonight it was.

And maybe that's why I love these guys so much.

Because their crazy matches mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	17. Retrospect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m no hero._
> 
> _So before you skip off to the next chapter after reading that last one and continue on thinking this is like some ‘underdog rises to the top’ bullshit, let me stop you right now._
> 
> _This ain’t that kind of story._
> 
> _I’m not the good guy here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Dead Memories"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=1RlrXBKKFaU&feature=share)
> 
> Forewarning, there’s some moderately graphic description of revenge rape in this chapter, if that’s not to your taste and you want to skip over it. Otherwise, have at it, you beautiful little sadists ;) What would I be without you? :D

I’m no hero.

So before you skip off to the next chapter after reading that last one and continue on thinking this is like some ‘underdog rises to the top’ bullshit, let me stop you right now.

This ain’t that kind of story.

I’m not the good guy here.

I’m just a bad guy that might on occasion do a semi decent thing and fuck up an even worse guy. But I guess by now you’re wondering why the fuck I’m such an asshole, huh? Like, “For real, Lenny, why are you such a funking punk, man?” Am I right?

I get it. I really do. And I know it’s wrong to treat people the way I do, act and talk like I do sometimes, but look, man, it could be worse. Way worse. I could be like Calvin, that bitch ass motherfucker hating on gay people like he does, probably because he’s secretly gay himself and doesn’t want people to know that shit. (I would bet fifty righteous dollar bills he’s in the closet about shit, or in some serious denial.) But I’m not him. And here’s why.

It all started when I was locked up, so let’s take a short trip down memory lane for a moment, shall we?

See, being short and skinny meant I was pushed around a lot. And seeing as I put a kid in the hospital, with his jaw wired shut, and that’s what landed me in a juvenile correctional facility, that meant people wanted to test me. Push my buttons. See if I was man enough to take that shit. If I was all talk, or if I was tough enough to back that shit up. Some just plain old didn’t like me. Same as prison, basically, only we were all minors. But same shit really.

In some ways, juvy can actually be a lot worse, believe it or not. Because when you get older, you learn to have more patience with people, and men tend to understand more as an adult that you ain’t getting out, and it’s better to just shut the hell up, sit the fuck down, leave people alone and do your time, just the same as everybody else. Other than the real crazy fuckers you meet every once in a while, most hard timers aren’t that bad.

I’ve been told by very reliable sources (As in they’ve been on the inside, seen shit first hand) most of what you see in movies is all bullshit, really. It’s not a walk in the park per say, but it neither is it like Undisputed (Great movie. You should watch it.) and nobody’s got mixed martial artists having cage fights to the death or some shit. Most guys in there just keep to themselves, do their time, and leave people alone. Because they’re grown ass men.

But when you’re young, you’re fucking dumb as hell. And cocky as shit. In juvy, everybody wanted to be a badass, everybody had to prove how big and bad and tough they were, and everybody walked around with that mentality. Jacked up on hormones, with brains the size of a fucking piss ant, and balls the size of Kansas. You had to watch your back around these kids, because they are fucking vicious. Came in all shapes and sizes too.

You had your ‘lifers’. All the boys that did serious shit, like fucked up shit, and you knew they were going to be transferred out this hell hole and straight into prison the minute they turned eighteen. You had your lowlifes, your street rats, all the boys like Andy that talk black but they’re white as snow. They all think they’re ‘gangsta’ and shit, dealing drugs out of the boys’ bathroom at school, got caught with dope in their pockets.

Got their flat billed hats flipped sideways and only ever listen to Eminem and MGK. Those boys you knew would be back. Because as soon as they got out, they were right back at it. They never learned their lesson, only how to get away with it. But they always came back eventually. Those were the boys you knew would grow up to be punks. Hang out at the skate park, deal their drugs, get picked up by the police, one way ticket to the county jail.

Then you had all the pussies that were only in there because of some dumb shit. Like, maybe they missed too many days of school or something, or they were suspended one too many times, and the school sent them to lock-up. They were never in for very long. Those were the boys that caught the most shit from people. They were almost always kids like Trevor. Good kids, kids that would never hurt anybody, but they changed when they got out.

Then you had kids like me. I was somewhere in the middle. I was good kid, a straight A student, who never had problems, until I did one really fucked up thing, and it landed me two years in juvy. A slap on the wrist, really. But when I first went in, I didn’t talk to nobody. I didn’t try to make friends with people, I kept my head down, and my opinion to myself. I just wanted to serve my sentence and get out. But that didn’t stop people from harassing me.

I was sent to the medical wing of the facility a lot, because guys would want to fuck with me, but I didn’t fight back. I didn’t know if I would hit them and the same shit would happen to them that happened to the boy I put in the hospital. I was scared that once I stood up and started hitting back, I wouldn’t stop. And I would end up killing somebody. And maybe I felt like I deserved it. So I kept my head down and took the hits. Let ‘em push me around, shove me down, without a word.

But things changed when I met a boy everybody called Sketch. He was one of the ‘lifers’, one of the boys that did some serious shit. Nobody fucked with Sketch. And Sketch liked me. So he took up for me, and people stopped fucking with me after that. But I can’t really say that I made my first friend though. Because Sketch and I weren’t exactly friends. He was the boy that took my virginity, to put it plainly.

No, he didn’t rape me or anything, but I was kind of confused at the time. Like, I’d never thought about guys like that before I met Sketch. And I was only like fifteen. I barely had a handle on girls. But I liked Sketch. He was alright. I kinda didn’t want to lose the only person I had on the inside that kept me from being hospitalized, so that first time we caught a break and were alone together for like five minutes with nobody around, I let him fuck me.

It was hasty. Just a quick fuck in the broom closet, because we were all like assigned chores and shit because it’s supposed to help build character or something, and we were grouped together. We didn’t cause trouble so the guards left us alone for a bit to fetch our cleaning supplies. Sketch closed the door, leaving it just cracked, with a little bit of light pouring through, and started making out with me. I was kind of frozen in shock at first.

But I didn’t question shit. Matter of fact I kind of liked it. And Sketch never made me feel like he would hurt me or anything, so when he started yanking my pants down, I just let it happen. Didn’t say a word. Just kept my eyes squeezed shut as he spit in his hand for lube, fingered me a little first to stretch me out, then shoved it in. I didn’t think I would like it all that much, but I did. Just, everything about the situation.

The way my heart raced, adrenaline pumping through me, the rough, frantic way he pounded into me, his labored breathing in my ear. I even liked the pain too, because it wasn’t like he could go all slow and gentle and whatnot, because we didn’t have a lot of time. I just…I liked how wrong it was. Ironically, that’s what made it feel right. I was hard and pretty soon I was jerking off while he fucked me, until we both came.

There was not a lot of time to discuss what happened, only wipe up my cum and spray the floor with bleach so the guards wouldn’t sniff it out. We went off with our cleaning supplies and set to work cleaning the rec room like we were supposed to, and that was that. Whatever I thought previously about myself, it no longer mattered. I wanted that. I didn’t want girls, didn’t want soft pillowy breasts or my dick shoved into some tight wet pussy.

I wanted that, and only that. I didn’t want soft, gentle hands on my skin, or light feminine moans in my ear. I wanted rough hands snatching the back of my head, fat dick shoved up my ass, and to hear this dude grunting like animal as he pounds one out inside me. So it worked out for a while, the weeks I was locked up with Sketch. Not so well when he left. But by that time, I amassed a bit of a reputation of my own. Started using it to my advantage.

Plus I hit a growth spurt, so for a while suddenly I wasn’t the scrawniest motherfucker in there.

I’ll tell you the most fucked up thing I ever did when I was inside. See, guys like Sketch, they’re everywhere, and sometimes they’re not always so cordial about shit. Sometimes that shit is forced, and it ain’t fun. Like, they close their eyes and pretend they’re with a girl ‘cause they can’t get their rocks off any other way. Other guys use rape as a show of power, and as a way to humiliate someone they don’t like.

You can’t say they’re gay. Heaven forbid you call them a fag or they’ll fuck you up way worse. ‘Cause they ain’t doing it because they like dudes. They’re doing it because they like to cause pain in the worst possible way. These guys are some of the most sadistic breed of bully you’ll ever meet. You thought the boy that shoved you into a locker, called you a loser, or gave you a swirly in some stank ass toilet was bad? Get the fuck out of here with that shit.

The boys in lock-up? Man, they’re the guys shoving broomsticks up boys’ asses til they’re bleeding and crying, begging them to stop. The guys that fuck you up for so much as looking at them wrong. And one day, one in particular got on my bad side. He was fucking with this kid named Cameron, which I did not approve of. Cameron was little, shorter and skinnier than everybody else, and one of those pansy ass cupcakes locked up for some stupid shit.

The bully in question, a boy by the name of Adam, liked to fuck with Cameron at mealtime. We’re in the cafeteria at lunch, and Adam would sit down next to him and start taking his food and shit. But what really pissed me off was when Cameron disappeared for about two weeks, then came back with bruises on his face. He’d been fucked up pretty bad, spent those two weeks in recovery, and he wouldn’t tell nobody who did it.

Not the nurses, the counselors, the correctional officers, nobody. He was too scared it would happen again if he squealed. But I knew. I knew it was Adam that fucked him up. I really can’t say that what I did to Adam was all that heroic, but I don’t regret it. After about a year and a half of being locked up, I was desensitized to a lot of shit, but that small shred of compassion I had left demanded that I take up for Cameron, and get revenge for that shit.

I was like him; I was hated, bullied, abused, and snubbed one too many times, and after seeing what happened to Cameron, some part of me snapped. And suddenly all I could care about was catching that punk loser Adam somewhere all by himself and making him feel pain the likes of which he’d never felt. He was a cocky son of a bitch, and he needed to be taught a lesson. So one day in the showers, I had some boys watch the door for me.

The rest of us crowded Adam in the shower. One boy was Adam’s lackey, so I had Pink (Yeah this boy’s name was Pink, you know, like Pinky and The Brain from Animaniacs?) I had him get Adam’s boy in a choke hold so he couldn’t jump in, and I beat the brakes off Adam first. Got him on the floor, got my arm around him and slowly squeezed until he almost passed out, went limp in my arms, then took my dick and mercilessly shoved it in his wet soapy ass.

The other boys in the shower looked away while I pounded into Adam. Screams were all that filled that room for a few minutes, otherwise it was dead silent. Adam’s friend was cursing me like a sailor when he could breathe, but Pink kept him clammed up tighter than a virgin’s ass while I fucked his friend. The amazing part had to be how insanely hard I was, and how I was able to keep it up, despite the fact that I hated Adam with every fiber of my being.

Just, the thought of causing him so much pain turned me on. That was the moment I knew how fucked up I was. That the light I might have had once upon a time went out. That part of me was dead and rotted inside. I wasn’t a hero. Maybe what I did was for the right reasons, to teach boys like Adam you don’t play like that, but…I mean that shit was just so wrong. But it felt so good. But I didn’t have long before what we did drew attention.

So after I fucked him bloody and raw for a good solid minute I let him go and cleaned my self up to hide the evidence. Wasn’t like I was going to come inside him anyway, because then if one of the nurses did a rape test they’d have solid evidence that could keep me locked away for good maybe. At least until I turned eighteen. But the crazy part was, just like Cameron, Adam didn’t squeal. He would never say who did it, because he knew what would happen.

If he ratted on me, anybody that had my back would fuck him up. And maybe he was just so traumatized by what happened, so ashamed of himself, that he didn’t want to talk about the experience. Maybe blocked that shit out. It wasn’t justice. It was vengeance. And I knew that if there was a hell, I was going to it for what I did. There was no way God would ever forgive me for my sins. Part of the reason I think he hates me, honestly.

Cameron would never forgive me either. He was just too good and too pure to hold a grudge. Too innocent to understand my actions.

But I had never felt better, really. Never felt more alive than in that moment. Never felt more… _right_.

So, flash forward to about six months after I got out, and I was adjusting to being on the outside after two years of hell. I wasn’t the same person I was when I went in, but I was taking counseling and medication for my anger and shit, so I was dealing. But in some ways, highschool isn’t all that different from lock-up. You just don’t have as many locked doors. No barbed wire fences either. But you still have bullies. And I fucking hate them.

The school I went to was crazy small, but you still had your cliques, just like in the movies. You know the deal. You’ve got your jocks, your punk losers, your band geeks. The jocks were never a problem really, most people on the sports teams were actually really nice, and got along with everybody. But it was your punk ass losers, your dope dealers, and your Eminem wannabes that you had to watch out for, just like on the inside.

One day I was walking down the hall and I saw two of them fucking with this short, scrawny kid. We had classes together, but I’d never talked to him. You might know him. A certain closeted homosexual that recently came out by the name of Justin Macintosh? Yeah. That’s how I became friends with that mouthy little fucker I live with. Saw a couple of guys harassing him, and instinct kicked in. I was off my meds that day too, and in a righteous fucking mood.

I didn’t like how they made me feel, so sometimes I’d pretend to take my meds, but in actuality flush them down the toilet. They’re supposed to make me calm, but all they do is make me not care. About anything. Even when I should. Great if I’m supposed to not care if someone gets in my face, yells at me, or pushes my buttons. But really bad any other time. I was like a zombie, doped up on that shit, and I hated it.

So that day I saw Justin being picked on, and my anger boiled over. There he was, standing there in a blue knit sweater over a white collared shirt, thick rimmed glasses (He didn’t start wearing contacts until senior year) and covered in freckles. “Leave me alone,” he whined at the guys crowding him, and I walked over. They were shoving him against the locker, so I took the one that had him by the collar and shoved him back.

“The fuck are doin’, huh?” I asked. “Won’t you leave him alone, man. Go bother somebody else.”

“Man, fuck you,” he spat in my face, jabbing a finger at me.

I was itching for a fight that day. Just looking for any and every excuse to take my aggression out on somebody, and this punk, Freddy Carnes, he was the motherfucker I stumbled upon. I was this close to beating the ever loving shit out of him when something stopped me.

His friend pulled him back.

“Dude stop,” he said to Freddy, eyeing me like I was some kind of demonic entity. “Just-just don’t. Come on man, let’s just go.”

“Get the fuck off me! What?!”

“Dude, that’s Lenny Bordeaux, man,” his boy said to him, and his eyes widened a little.

Yeah, apparently lock-up wasn’t the only place I earned a reputation. Obviously I amassed one back home too while I was gone. People heard about me. How could they not? Do you know how small this punk ass town is, man? Too fucking small. “What’s going on here?” one of the teachers asked when he saw us. The gym teacher. Matt Griffon. And Mr. Griffon didn’t like me either, by the way. Looked at me like I was the problem.

“Nothin’,” said the boy I shoved. His friend backed him up and they swore nothing was wrong, that there was no problem. I just stood there kind of dumbfounded. They split, Mr. Griffon too after giving me one long hard look, glaring at me like I’m Satan. Then I was left with Justin. I turned to face him, and he gazed up at me like I was heaven sent. I think what Justin had been experiencing was a little bit of hero worship, kind of like Trevor.

Yeah I didn’t realize at the time, but Justin developed a little bit of a crush on me because I stood up for him.

He followed me around like a puppy after that. I didn’t like him, and I don’t think he really liked me all that much either. I mean, obviously, because look at us now. I’m an asshole, and we have zero shit in common. But we were kind of friends after that day. At least, we looked out for each other and shit. Hung out after school and on the weekends. Or, well, Justin wanted to hang out, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

At the time, he didn’t have any friends either. And I finally had a friend I felt confident about taking home and introducing to my grandma, because Justin was always nice and polite to people and stuff. So we’d go to my grandma’s, or to his mom’s house, play video games, goof around looking at stuff on the internet, or watch tv. Help each other with homework and stuff. But he never shut up. Talked a mile a minute about anything and everything.

Obviously a lot has changed since then. Like, I’m not _quite_ the cocky shit I used to be, and I don’t start shit with people just because. I’ve mellowed considerably over the years. Guess maybe that’s why Justin is on my ass so much. Because he never saw just what I’m capable of, just how bad I can be when I’m pushed far enough. And since I keep my mouth shut about shit, Justin takes my brooding silence as submission.

And I would never show him this side of me, because sometimes when I look at him, I still see that scrawny little dork I rescued from some losers back in highschool.

But looking back on those days, when I was some kind of ‘hero’ to people, and a straight up monster to others, you know, depending on one’s perspective, I think to myself that maybe all this time I’ve always hated myself for the thoughts I’ve had and the things that I did because I never accepted that part of me. I always warred with that darker side of me, like it was some ancient evil kept locked away in Pandora’s Box. I never embraced it.

I just always pushed it away, like I was tainted. Like I could never be good enough for anyone with this part of me locked inside. Like I deserve all the bad shit that’s ever happened to me, or to others because of my actions. That there’s some kind of grander design to my bullshit, instead of just calling it how it is, as bullshit. I piled on all this guilt because of everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve hurt, and I’ve been clinging to that mindset just to feel sane.

But lately, and maybe especially after my fight with Calvin earlier tonight, I think to myself that maybe Mack and everybody else is right. Like, I’ve kept that part of me locked away for so long that even worse things have happened because of it. I mean, trying to bottle all my anger all the time has made me the broody fuck that Justin always walks all over, right, like because he never saw that darker side of me. Never knew that part of me existed.

Now I’m not saying I should go out right now and shove somebody through a wall. All I’m saying is maybe I should stop trying to keep that asshole locked away inside of me 24/7. Like, maybe I should accept that shit, as part of who I am. Maybe even be proud of that shit. Stop feeling like a low life piece of shit just because I’m not normal, because I’m not like everybody else. Maybe I should just embrace that shit like an old friend.

What small taste of it Mack has gotten, he doesn’t mind. Matter of fact, he’s still sitting next to me right now, with his arm slung around me on the couch, about to pass that blunt in his hand. My darker side hasn’t scared him away yet (Mostly because I know for a fucking fact he’s got one of his own.) And it ain’t scared anyone else away yet either. Not Andy, not Smoke, not Trevor. Not anyone that has seen the real Lenny and reaped the benefit.

Tonight I learned a lesson: you don’t have to be a good guy to be a hero to someone. You just have to do the right thing when it matters. And things like family and friends are what you make of them. They don’t have to be blood–hell, you ain’t even gotta like them really–but real family will be there for you when you need them most. Life doesn’t have to be perfect. Just good enough for you. And right now, this moment, tonight, life ain’t so bad. And maybe I’m not as bad as I thought I was either.

Because I may not be a hero, but maybe I was wrong to say I was the villain.

Maybe I’m somewhere in between.

Maybe I’m what they call the anti-hero.

And maybe if I can accept that darker part of me that comes out when people fuck with me, maybe there are other parts of me I can accept too.

Like the part of me that _doesn’t_ want to be hated, to be hurt, to be abused.

But just wants to be loved.

And maybe...just _maybe_...I can allow myself to love in turn.

Like, maybe I’m worthy of it.

Mack said I just need something to live for, but I think I did better.

I found people worth fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that _that’s_ out of the way, and we’ve had our brief interlude of emotional growth and acceptance, let’s get back to the regularly scheduled kink filled program, shall we?
> 
> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	18. Poetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You know how you’re always buggin’ me about reading some of the shit I wrote?” I ask, and a big smile spreads across his face._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Aerials"–System Of A Down](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=e-2251_at-k&feature=share)

We crash at Smoke’s house that night. He passes out in the recliner, half a joint sticking out of his mouth, Andy snoring on the couch, so we go back to Smoke’s bedroom and pass out on the bed. We don’t fuck or anything, we’re both too high and wasted to fuck anyway, but since neither of us are sober enough to drive Mack’s truck, we stay there that night. The next morning we wake up, hungover as fuck, but smashed up against each other.

It’s Budweiser, man. I swear, every time I drink that shit I wake up feeling like I played chicken with a train or something. My hand feels like I punched a brick wall. We down a handful of Advil, wait til Smoke and Andy wake up, burn one, then we hit the road. I don’t feeling like cooking breakfast, but once my headache goes away I’m craving a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit, so we swing by McDonald’s drive thru.

I’m feeling more like myself by the time we get to Mack’s, eat our food, and each have a cup of broiling hot coffee. Mack has the tv on, turned to a random channel, and it plays quietly in the background as we chill on the couch and digest our food. I’m resting my head on his shoulder when suddenly I remember something I almost forgot, and I pop my head up. “Oh shit, I just remembered. I had something I wanted to show you.”

I get up and open my bag of clothes nearby, then come back to the couch with a metal lock box in my hands. “What’s that?” Mack asks me, and I smile.

“You know how you’re always buggin’ me about reading some of the shit I wrote?” I ask, and a big smile spreads across his face. I crack open the box and start sifting through it. I didn’t have time before I left to go through everything, so I just snatched the whole thing from the back of the closet and threw it in my bag. So not only are there notebooks and composition books crammed inside, but some old photos and stuff too.

It’s all I had left after my grandma died. This lock box full of stuff. It’s everything I kept after I sold the trailer. There’s even a stack of letters my grandma sent me when I was in lock-up. She wrote me every week I was gone. It never failed, every week when the mail came, there was a letter addressed to me from Brenda Marks. It always made my day to hear from her, even if I felt like I didn’t deserve that shit, still, it made things easier.

Along with the stack of letters, photos and journals, is a silver necklace tucked between the slips of paper and when I see it I snatch it up so it doesn’t get mixed up in stuff and misplaced by accident. A silver cross, not plated silver but pure, and the diamonds on it are real too, not cubic zirconia. I’ve never had it appraised, but I imagine it’s worth a couple hundred bucks at least, if not more. I would never ever sell it though, no matter how desperate I get.

“Your grandma’s?” Mack guesses, pointing at the cross as I slip it over my head and around my neck for safe keeping. I nod at the question.

Yeah, it was hers. She wore every day for as long as I can remember. The night she died, she asked me to take it off and keep it safe for her. She didn’t want to be buried with it. Said it was a family heirloom, and now it was entrusted to me. It’s like Mack’s dad’s ring, the one he wears on his right index finger. The monetary value means nothing, but the sentimental value is everything. I just don’t wear the necklace because I don’t want people thinking I’m some kind of hypocrite for wearing a crucifix but not actually following the Bible.

Mack sees the stack of photos that were buried in the bottom and snatches them up, sifting through him as I attempt to bring order to the chaos that is my lock box. I smirk, side-eyeing him as he does this. First thing he sees is a picture of me and my grandma on Halloween, one of the church folks took it for us, when I was like eight, and I’m standing there with my pumpkin pale, in a skeleton costume. Grandma standing beside me, with her arms around me, dressed as a witch, pointy hat and everything.

He chuckles, and so do I when he says, “You know, you were kinda cute back then. What the hell happened to you?” I shake my head at him and we both get a little distracted by the pictures for a while as I tell Mack the stories behind them. There’s one of me and Justin sitting on the porch, midsummer, so we’re both sweaty. Back in highschool, so in the picture I look like a fucking punk, with my head buzzed, cigarette hanging out of my mouth.

My cheeks are all blotchy and red from sunburn, and Justin’s crouched beside me, taking a drink of soda. But then there’s another picture of me, when I was two, being held by a skinny black haired girl with the same green eyes as mine, and I glance away when I see it. Mack asks me who that is, and I say, “My mom,” but that’s all I can say about it. Mack sees how tense I am and tucks the photo in the back of the stack, eyes on the next.

I don’t really remember much of my mom. Other than the pictures I have of her, I only have this one image in my head. I was about that age, two or three years old, we’re in grandma’s driveway, and she’s holding me, just like in the picture. But she’s rail thin, like, so skinny the slightest gust of wind could probably knock her over. And she’s crying. Black eyeliner is running down her cheeks, and she’s shaking with me in her arms.

She says something to me, I don’t remember what, but next thing I know I’m being ripped away from her. Not violently, but my grandma’s reaching out for me and she puts me in her arms. I’m screaming, crying for my mom, but she ignores me as she turns and gets in the passenger’s seat of a white four door Sedan. That’s the last I saw of her too. Just Keisha Marks giving me to her mom, and leaving her only child behind.

(Thus the abandonment issues, by the way.)

I couldn’t comprehend when I was so little that my mom had a drug problem. Well, her and my dad both. They were junkies. But my grandma took her to court for custody of me, and she won the battle, so my mom had to give me up. If she got cleaned up, she could visit me, maybe eventually get me back, but she never came back. And about a year later she died. Right there in the front seat of that white four door Sedan, next to my dad.

Malcolm Bordeaux.

My heart races when Mack flips through the stack of photos, then stops when he gets to another of my mom.

A picture of her next to a guy that looks like he could be my twin brother, except he’s rail thin with hardly any weight to him, his hair is a bit longer and shaggier than mine, and his eyes have circles under them, like he hadn’t slept in months. For all I know, it’s probably true. He’s standing there in jeans and a white beater, arm around my mom. Just like the picture of me, he’s got a cigarette in his mouth, and my leg starts twitching when I see it.

I never realized before just how much I look like my dad, and I fucking hate that.

“That your dad?” Mack asks me, and I sigh and nod at the question.

He doesn’t say anything else, just briefly glances my way, like he’s trying to gauge how I’m feeling right now. Can’t really say. But I know he has questions. There’s a reason I never talk about my dad, but maybe now is as good a time as any to open up about that shit. Like, I know y’all have been wondering why I don’t open up about him. “Did…did Smoke ever tell you about my dad?” I ask, and Mack shakes his head.

“Nah. He never mentioned him.” Mack’s eyes are alight now, overly curious, but he patiently waits for me to talk.

I reach for a cigarette in my pack on the coffee table, snatch up my lighter and light that bitch, exhaling menthol in a sigh and scratch my head.

“You ever read about that real bad accident out on the interstate about twenty-five years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“That was him.”

Mack’s brow lifts at that. Yeah, it was bad. Like, a fifteen car pile up. Five cop cars had set up the road block to stop the white Sedan, and three behind it in pursuit. Tractor trailer flipped on its side, and there was even a station wagon with a family inside that were caught in the middle of it. “Him and my mom knocked over this liquor store,” I tell Mack, puffing on my cigarette. “He had her wait in the car while he went in, held the cashier at gunpoint.

Nine millimeter in his face, and he tells the guy to empty the register.” I swallow, and my voice becomes a little unsteady as I say, “He gave my dad all the money in the register, then opened the safe, but…my dad shot him anyway. Point blank range. Right between the eyes. The security camera got it all on tape. The whole thing. He ran out, got in the passenger’s seat, mom peeled out of the parking lot. Guess they thought they’d get away with it, but…”

But they didn’t. Like I said, they ended up in a car chase, state police set up a road block, and to avoid it they veered into oncoming traffic, caused an accident. And it was bad. Like, really bad. At least four deaths, and ten more people severely injured. Mom died instantly. Dad was life-flighted to the nearest hospital, didn’t make it there. Died in the helicopter. Hell, if you ask me, they shouldn’t have even tried to save his life.

He was a murderer. Man, he fucking _killed_ somebody. Two people, if you count my mom, because it was his fucking fault she died. He got her into drugs, made her his accomplice, and got her killed in that accident. And that’s not even including the four other people that died that day, one of them a fifteen year old girl. Not even graduated from highschool yet. And I was fucking named after him. My full name is Leonard Malcolm Bordeaux.

And I fucking hate it.

But yeah. That’s why I don’t talk about my dad. “And I look just like him,” I grit out with disdain, and my legs starts twitching again as I get irritated. Mack sucks in a breath through his nose and releases in a huff. He doesn’t say, ‘I’m sorry.’ Doesn’t give me any kind of pity, for which I’m grateful, just stares at me for a minute. “Guess it doesn’t really help either that I’m just as crazy as he was,” I say, but at that, Mack decides to comment.

“Baby, that don’t mean shit,” he says. He flops the stack of photos down on the coffee table. “You ain’t nothin’ like him.” He throws his arm around my neck, pulls me closer. “And you look more like your mom,” he adds, to which I snort a little. He sighs. “My dad did some dumb shit too. But that don’t mean we’ll make the same mistakes. Just teaches us to do better than they did. Or at least do the best we can.”

He kisses the top of my head, then pats me on the back before he lets me go, picking the pictures back up and tucks the one of my mom and dad in the back of the stack, then snorting at the next picture, of me when I was five, wearing my grandpa’s ‘Gone Fishin’ hat that grandma gave me. There are a few more pictures, of me, Andy, Smoke and a few others taken at Smoke’s house.

One of me sitting on the couch next to a guy with dark hair, two full sleeves of tattoos covering his arms, by the name of Stoney Etheridge.That was his party actually. He’d just finally gotten out of prison, so we were partying out at Smoke’s house to celebrate. I can’t even remember half the shit that went down that night. Only that there were kegs, and we were wasted. “Hey I know that asshole,” Mack chuckles, and I smirk a little.

“You know Stoney?” I ask, and he nods. In the picture, I’m taking a hit off the bong, and Stoney’s flipping off the camera. I think Andy took that picture actually. Andy or Amy, one of the two. Nothing to really get pissed about, but my leg’s still twitching.

I’m still thinking about my dad.

As Mack’s flipping through the pictures, he notices I’m twitching. And something crazy happens. Without looking up from the stack of pictures, he reaches over and rubs my leg in a soothing way and you won’t fucking believe this shit, but…it _stops_. No lie, my leg stops bouncing! Like, holy shit! The only time that ever happens is when I smoke weed, but my buzz wore off ages ago and I’m sober now. Yet, despite that, my leg goes still.

I’m no longer thinking about anything but the soothing feel of Mack’s hand rubbing my leg while he sifts through the photos in his lap. And all the sudden, all I want is to snuggle up to him, so I scoot closer and lay my head on his shoulder. I feel him lean in and plant a kiss on the side of my head, then revert his focus back to the pictures, laughing at the one of me and Andy wearing shirts that say, “I’m with Stupid,” and, “He’s with me”.

That’s the end of the line, he’s now seen all the photos, sets them on the table, then reaches for the composition book I laid out.

“What’s this?” he asks, flipping it open to the first page.

And this is where I really freak out. Not in a bad way, but I’m tense. Because it’s in fact a book full of my poetry.

“Just some shit I wrote when I first got out of juvy,” I say. “I was like, sixteen or seventeen, somethin’ like that. This was when my counselor first suggested I start writing down my thoughts and feelings in order to cope with shit.” Mack quirks a brow at that. “But for some reason, the only shit that would come out was nonsensical shit. Just like, the most random things. Gave it to my counselor and he was like, ‘Oh so you like to write poetry?’

I was just kind of like, ‘Uh, yeah, sure’,” I chuckle a little, “But I guess what I wrote down kind of sounded poetic, so I started writing more. Sometimes trying to make shit rhyme too. It wasn’t technically what he asked me to do, but he said if I enjoy it, it’s still a constructive way to express myself. And once I started, I just couldn’t stop. Like it opened a flood gate and suddenly I was writing all the time. Every day.”

So Mack starts reading, right? And I get a little apprehensive, because like I said, I’m not good with criticism, and the only reason I was ever okay with my counselor reading shit was because he never criticized. Just gave me a thumbs up or whatever. But as Mack’s reading, he keeps his hand on my leg, absently stroking with his fingers as he reads, only removing it to flip the page before he puts it back, just like when he holds my hand in the truck.

He’s absorbed in it, like it’s the most fascinating shit. His mouth moves when he reads the words, and I see him furrow his brow in some parts, maybe because he can’t read my writing. But he just keeps reading. Page after page, and I just rest against him, soothed to complacency by the touch of his hand and it feels… _right_. Like, there is nothing wrong about this situation. Nothing at all. Like, this is right where I should be.

He dabs his tongue with his thumb and flips the page again, to a particular poem that makes him go, “Hmm.” And I’m sure by now you’re wondering what he’s reading, huh? Alright, here it is. The poem’s called “Free”. And it goes something like this:

 _Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see._  
_Look at yourself, and see what you made of me._  
_Tell me the stars are beautiful as you watch what I’ve become._  
_Tell me the light is blinding when the air has left my lungs._

 _Give me hope of warm sands, cast against the crystal seas,_  
_As you sustain me with your idiosyncrasies._  
_Give me hate, give me scorn, give me blood and bile and agony,_  
_But nevertheless you cannot take from me._

 _You cannot take my soul,_  
_You cannot quench my fire,_  
_You cannot have what you do not own,_  
_You may never kill my ire._

 _For I am already unfeeling,_  
_Unbroken, unburdened, unabated and uncaring,_  
_Not bold but I am daring._

 _As the light leaves my eyes,_  
_I know that I have won,_  
_For though you have killed me,_  
_It cannot be undone,_

 _And now my mark is laid upon your soul,_  
_For shame, you thought a fleeting moment you could go,_  
_But now you are mine._  
_I, the victim, but you, the blind._

 _Look into my eyes._  
_Tell me what you see._  
_Tell me of the angel, the demon,_  
_That your hands have made of me._

 _And when your hands have bound my wrists,_  
_And your hands have clutched my throat,_  
_My own are washed of sin,_  
_And in knowing so, I gloat._

 _Know that I applaud with glee,_  
_When you look in my eyes and see what you see._  
_For I may be a sinner,_  
_But you are no saint,_  
_And heaven remains a mystery to us both._

 _As though you hold the knife,_  
_‘Tis I that holds the key,_  
_‘Tis I that will be the death of me,_  
_Be gone. I banish thee._  
_For in my last breath, I am Free._

Yeah, it’s shit, I know. See, I told you I suck at that writing bullshit, but hey, it’s therapeutic, okay? That’s all that really mattered when I wrote it, that I was getting shit out of my system through words instead of acting on my feelings. But when Mack finishes reading, his head pops up and he says, “Man, that was really good.” I bite my lip a little. “Nah, I mean that. That was some good shit. I could tell it was kinda personal, though.”

“A little bit, yeah,” I shrug, playing with the gauge in my ear. “It’s just…more or less about vengeance being perpetual. Like, one person does a bad thing, but then another person goes around and takes their vengeance out on that person, well, then the perpetrator becomes the victim and the victim then becomes the perpetrator. Basically like, if you kill a murderer, well, then there’s still one more killer in the world.”

Mack nods a little. “I think I get it.”

He flips the page, and my eyes widen to what’s on the next page. I forgot about it. It’s not something I ever showed my counselor, or anyone, for that matter. “Shit,” I gasp, and try to take the book back but he holds it out of my reach. He eyes me like I went nuts. “No, man, give it back, you can’t read that!” I say, and climb over him to reach for it, but he smirks and holds it away from me. “Mack please give it back.”

“What? Is it about me or somethin’?” he asks. Well, no, but…it’s not appropriate.

“Just–just give it here–gimme the–”

Mack gets up and I follow, trying to grab the book but he holds it just out of reach and backs up into the kitchen. “It’s somethin’ dirty, ain’t it?” he asks me, grinning and I scowl at him.

“Dammit, Mack, I ain’t playing! Give it back!” I whine. He sticks out his hand and holds me back so he can read it, and his smile fades a little.

“God _damn_ ,” he curses, and I stop trying to snatch the book and just hide my burning face instead. It _is_ dirty. So dirty. I mean, it’s not even poetry really. Like, it’s just smut. That’s all. There’s no plot. Just one hundred percent, certifiable porn. It’s a fantasy I had when I was younger, and I just felt like writing it down. Mostly just so I could get it out of my system, but partially to jerk off to in the middle of the night when I couldn’t watch porn.

Like, my grandma would’ve busted my ass if she caught me looking at porn, but she never went through my journals. Always respected my privacy, which I was very grateful for. There is no way I would’ve ever let my grandma read this sinful, blasphemous shit Mack’s reading right now. No way in hell. Man, she would’ve killed me. The work is titled “Confessional” and it’s pretty much what you can imagine.

Boy confesses his sins. Boy receives punishment for said sins. Boy likes it. _A lot_.

I peak at Mack from behind my fingers to see him engrossed in the shit, and he smears a hand across his face when he’s through with the first page, suddenly flustered. Like, I swear, I think see a bead of sweat forming on his brow. “ _Fuck_ ,” he murmurs, then flips the page. He bites his lip. Like, for real, I think this shit is turning him on. And I won’t lie, that kind of turns me on. I see him bite his knuckle and groan at something particularly good.

Holy shit.

Mack wants to act out that fantasy, doesn’t he?

Oh I fucking hope he does.

Because I’m getting hard and fucking throbbing just imagining it. My eyes are glued to him just as his are glued to the page he’s reading. When he’s done, he closes the book, walks over and smacks it down on the counter, saying, “Goddamn, baby,” breathlessly. Fuck, judging by his face he looks like he already came in his boxers. He heaves a few heavy breaths as he stares at me. “How old were you when you wrote that?”

I shrug. “Like, sixteen?”

“Hot damn, I wish you were still sixteen,” he says, looking me up and down, like he’s five seconds from bending me over the counter and fucking me right here. No lie, his pupils are so dilated, his eyes are black. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists like he’s trying to fight the urge to grab hold of me. I think I woke the tiger, and this fucker is ready to pounce on me, snatch me up and devour me. I smirk at him.

“Yeah, but then what you’re about to do to me in like five minutes would be statutory, and illegal,” I say. He smirks at me.

“Baby, some of the ways I wanna fuck you should be illegal,” he tells me, and my knees are weak at that.

“Mnh, don’t threaten me with a good time,” I purr, and I start backing up toward the living room. Mack darts around the counter and I take off running, laughing, for the bedroom, and I hear him chasing me. Yeah, I was right. Mack is about to make that shit he just read about a fucking reality. And I’m so down for that. You guys are probably itching to read about it too. Just hanging on the edge of your seats.

Well, just stick around, alright?

Because I think you might enjoy this next chapter.

Almost as much as I will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	19. Confessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He starts pulling my shirt over my head, tugs it off of me, then reaches to fondle the silver cross I’m still wearing for a second. “You should leave this on,” he suggests, smirking. “Think it kinda adds to it really.” I snort a little at that. Oh whatever, not like grandma’s here to see it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. The author's kind of a dipshit.
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Personal Jesus"–Marilyn Manson](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=1oMS2ZuzwaU&feature=share)

So where were we?

Oh, right. Sex scene. Got it.

Okay so, “Confessional” was a short story I wrote when I was like sixteen, and just got out of lock-up, taking anger management counseling, which was a stipulation of my release, and my therapist suggested I start writing down my thoughts and feelings to help deal with my emotions. Now, this story was not something he ever read, because it’s pretty graphic, and that’s just highly inappropriate to give to your counselor, but it helped me deal with my frustration.

It was also really great spank bank material, since my grandma would kill me if she ever caught me trying to watch any kind of porn, let alone gay porn, on her computer.

So, at the time, I had very little to no knowledge whatsoever of things like BDSM etiquette, even less experience with actual sex and the dynamics of such, but I had a vague idea of being a masochist. And I had a very good idea in my head of how I’d like to be emaciated, so just for shits, I wrote that shit down. I was also heavily into religious symbolism at the time, so my fantasy evolved into a sex scene played out between a young, newly ordained priest and an even younger participant.

Oh wait, shit, please don’t think this is like some pedophilia shit! No! No, it’s not that. The boy was me, so he was sixteen too, duh. So he was young but not _that_ fucking young, geeze. But anyway, it starts out with him (me) walking into a confessional (Yes, I was really into the whole Catholic symbolism, so it took place in a cathedral) kneeling on the little padded bench and saying those iconic words after crossing himself, “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

The priest, who’s young and still largely inexperienced with hearing people’s dirty little secrets, asks the boy what sin it was that he committed, and is thrown for a loop when the boy confesses to having sexual fantasies about the young priest himself, and even jerking off to them. Oh yeah, this kid then goes on to describe in vivid detail his fantasies, and even goes so far as to describe the way he touches himself in order to climax. By this point, the priest is rock hard, listening to all that.

He knows it’s wrong, so very, very wrong, to even want this, let alone act on it, but he can’t help himself. He proceeds to tell the boy he must now pay penance for those sins. The priest intends to dole out the punishment himself, to the boy’s excitement. So he gets up and walks out of the booth and then walks over to where the boy is still kneeling, go inside behind him and shuts the door. He has him place his hands on the wall on either side of his head, and unbuckles his belt.

This is where it really gets interesting. Because then he drops to his knees behind him and yanks down his pants. He whips him with the belt, over and over, making him whimper and moan. The boy’s excited, he’s excited, and finally he just can’t take it anymore, so he whips out his dick and fucking pounds him into the wall. But it’s not enough. He’s gotta be sadistic about it, so he takes his belt, loops it around the boy’s neck, buckles it tight, and strangles him with that shit while they fuck.

There have been nights when Justin is working a double shift that I’ve laid awake in bed for hours, fantasizing about this type of shit. That fantasy, as well as countless similar ones. Hours I’ve spent pleasuring myself to them, where I’ve taken my belt and beat myself with it, imagining it to be someone else. A sexy porn star maybe. Most usually Mack though, because Mack is my fucking man, I tell you. Where I’ve choked myself while jerking off until I come.

I’ve never asked Justin to indulge me in my “sick fantasies”, because unfortunately Justin likes to give his opinion to just about anyone that will hear it, and I’ve heard Justin bitch about how he thinks that shit’s fucked up. He thinks people that are into that shit have mental problems and just need therapy to work through their issues because obviously they’re damaged, and can’t imagine how anyone could derive any kind of pleasure from pain, humiliation and degradation.

Now keep in mind that Mack just got done reading all about that “sick fantasy” aforementioned above, in all its delicious detail, and is fucking dying to take a crack at it. Can I just reiterate for a moment here how fucking awesome he is and how much I wish I’d started fucking him eight years ago instead of his brother? Just wanted to rehash that at this juncture. But I’m sure you’ve heard enough of my blabbering about shit, and would like to get on with the chapter now, _so_ …

So Mack chases me through the house and I’m laughing (So is he) as I run straight to his bedroom, grinning from ear to ear when I feel him snatch me up like a predator that just caught its prey, catching me around the waist, pulling me back and smashing me against his chest, then bite my ear. That chuckle turns into a moan when he does that, and I am fucking putty in his hands. I let him turn me around and kiss me hard, looping my arms around his neck.

He reaches down and squeezes my ass while we kiss. I’m kind of impatient and wanting to get fucked already, but I’d rather we do this at Mack’s pace, because he hasn’t said specifically what he wants here. He might just want to bang one out real quick, maybe not actually act everything out accordingly, but there’s a good possibility that I’m right, and that fantasy is exactly what he wants to make happen right now. It’s Mack, so I’m down with whatever really. We don’t have to act it out.

But then he starts pulling my shirt over my head, tugs it off of me, then reaches to fondle the silver cross I’m still wearing for a second. “You should leave this on,” he suggests, smirking. “Think it kinda adds to it really.” I snort a little at that. Oh whatever, not like grandma’s here to see it. Right? Like she can’t actually see what’s going on down here on earth, can she? Oh fuck I hope not, because that’s embarrassing to think about. Mack frowns a little. “I mean, if you wanna take it off–”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll leave it on.” I pull back a little to rustle him out of his shirt and say, “Does kind of add to it, huh? Makes me look like I’m a good little Christian boy who’s been very, _very_ bad.”

“Fuck that’s hot,” he sighs. Oh yeah, yeah I’ve got this guy wrapped around my little finger right now. I run my hands up and down his chest as I’m thinking about it. “Won’t you get undressed, then get on the bed and tell me all about it.” I smirk a little, then do exactly as instructed, unbuckling my belt and yanking my pants off. I can’t get naked fast enough and Mack chuckles at my enthusiasm. But can you blame me really? “Up against the wall,” he says, and I crawl to it.

I’m now at the head of the bed, on my knees facing the wall, and I put my hands up, just like I described in the story, then I feel the bed dip behind me, and Mack unbuckling his own belt. I hear him fold it in half and make it snap, and holy fucking shit that sound! My eyes roll to the back of my head in a blissful sigh at that sound. It’s the sound of miracles, man. Like, fuck, no lie, I don’t need any god right now but this one kneeling behind me.

My heart races when I feel the belt stroke my back, from my shoulder all the way down, then hear him say, “You change your mind about this shit, just let me know and I’ll stop.”

“Stop is not in my vocabulary with you,” I say and he laughs.

“Yeah, well, still, you just tell me what you want and we’ll do it. Or say that safeword if you want.”

I won’t. I know I won’t. But it’s sweet of him to remind me about it, as an option. “Same for you,” I say. “If you change your mind about shit. Like, you don’t have to do it. You can do whatever you want.”

I’m really liking this whole healthy communication thing we’ve got going on right now, but seriously, I want to get on with show already. I’m seconds away from drumming my fingers impatiently on the wall. But then I hear, “Alright,” Then feel the belt slip down to my ass cheeks. With one hand he brushes the leather over my skin, and the other he gropes my ass, but then, without a word, or any kind of warning, I sense his hand draw back, then feel the sting.

I hiss and moan at the feel of that strike. Softer then what I expected, but I know Mack’s going to take his time and figure out my pain tolerance. “Harder?”

“Yeah.”

_Smack!_

Okay now _that_ feels more like what I’d been expecting. “Oh f-fuck,” I stutter. It’s like a razor blade slicing across my skin. A sharp sting, then a bit of a burn, and then somewhat warm in the afterglow. But before I even settle into that glow Mack whips me again. A little harder. And then again, and I unconsciously alternate between moving away and trying to get closer. Then another hit, and this one really stings. “Jesus Fucking Christ!” I curse, and I hear Mack chuckle.

“Ah-ah,” he chides. “Can’t have that kind of language.”

Then he hits me again as a punishment. I want to scream, cry, laugh, moan and tell this man I love him, all at once. It’s a crazy mix of feelings. But after awhile the adrenaline kicks in and starts to dull the throbbing pain and I rest my forehead against the wall as he hits me over and over. I moan and whimper a “Please,” begging for more, because it never feels like enough. And every time he hits me I hear him moan like he’s getting off on this shit too.

I would love to see his face right now, but I’m also enjoying this little bubble of mine, facing the wall. See there’s a double edge to that blade. On one side, I can close my eyes, moan and whimper in pleasure as I imagine that confessional, as the cross dangles from my neck. Latch onto that fantasy of being such a bad little sinner in need of punishment, and on the other side of this, Mack can fill his need to cause pain and agony and twist my pleasure into whatever fantasy of his own.

In short, he can’t see my smile, and can pretend I don’t enjoy this at all, if he wants. Those little pleases of mine could mean I’m begging him to stop. Like an “Oh God please stop, it hurts!” But not really. Fuck, I don’t ever want it to stop. He switches to the other cheek and whips it instead, starting fresh with that zing of razor sharp pain on my skin and I hiss, partially moving away from it, my body telling me pain is bad, oh but my mind is speaking a different language.

“You want more?” he asks me.

“Oh god yes,” I sigh, and he chuckles. _That_ laugh. Yes, the one that drives me nuts. That dark little laugh that makes me shiver. “Please don’t stop. I need it. I’ve been so, so very bad, and I _really_ need it. Believe me when I say I’ve earned it.”

“Oh I bet you have,” he growls, and that tone of voice too. Holy shit. “Done a lot of bad things, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” I groan. “Like, a lot. I’m like…like evil as shit, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“I bet you are.” Once more I feel that leather sliding against my skin over my abrasions like a reminder and a promise of more to come. “Won’t you tell me about it. Confess to some of those sins of yours.”

Oh I definitely will. That part was in the story I wrote, the detailed descriptions of sexual fantasies, and Mack wants to hear all my dirty little secrets. I could make some stuff up really, just to play along, tell him all about all these fictional atrocities I’ve committed, but I want to make it good for him. So I’m going to give him an _actual_ confession of some truths I’ve been keeping to myself. “I think about you,” I say. “I think about you all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like, all the time. Even when I really shouldn’t.” Still, I feel him stroking me with that belt, humming under his breath a little. “Like when I’m with your brother.”

“You think about me when you’re with Justin?”

“Yeah.” I nod a little. “I’ve thought about you for years. God I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long. I fantasised about it all the time. Dreamed about it. When I was home alone I’d jerk off to it. I couldn’t get you out of my head. Even when…even when we had sex.”

He stops moving behind me. Goes perfectly still. “Shit,” he murmurs.

“Yeah. It was…the only way I could get off,” I admit. “Picturing I was with you. It’s the only way I’d be able to come.”

“For real?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Man he fuckin’ sucks in bed and you’re fuckin’ hot and all I’ve ever wanted was you.”

Oops. I didn’t mean to put it all out there like that, but…

“Goddamn,” he sighs. I’m not all that good at reading some of his expletives and I’m not sure if that’s a good one or a bad one, like suddenly he doesn’t want to do this anymore. But then I hear, “Well shit, baby, let me answer all your prayers then.” I feel him grab my hip and then shift closer, and I feel it. He’s fucking hard as a motherfucking rock right now. Like, I swear I’ve never felt him get this hard. Was it just from whipping me? Or also from hearing how nuts he drives me?

Like, did that seriously turn him on hearing about how for years I’ve thought about him while I fucked his brother because Justin sucks in bed and he’s literally the only guy that can get me off? Holy shit. “Fuck you’re bad,” I hear as he grinds against me and my sore, stinging ass. “You know you’re goin’ to hell for that shit, right?” I moan. Oh yeah, I’ve got a parking space reserved already, for damn sure. I am definitely one smarmy son of a bitch. He taps me with the belt. “You want more?”

I don’t know. I kind of want to get fucked. Just like railed hardcore and shit. I’m so insanely turned on right now and I don’t know which inner demon to feed. They’re all hungry. “Fuck, I dunno,” I say. “I just want you.”

“You want that dick you’ve been dreamin’ about all these years, don’t you?”

“ _Fuck yes_.”

I hear him laugh that little laugh again. “Alright then.”

He shuffles to the nightstand for a condom, but when he comes back I feel something that makes my pulse race even faster. A clinking sound (He’s threading the end through the belt loop) and then I feel him slip the belt over my head and slide it on my neck. He pulls the slack out of it, not tight enough to cut off my air, but just tight enough to lay against my skin. As we go along I know it’ll get tighter. “If you need me to let up and give you some air, just tap that wall, alright?”

“Alright,” I nod, practically shaking with anticipation now. Fuck! Mack strangling me with his belt while he fucks me from behind? FUCK YES. Mentally I’m there already, but Mack is not that far behind as he slips the condom on and lines himself up. No preparation, just presses in, the burning sensation not unlike the welts he left on my ass. Once he’s inside, as he thrusts he tugs me back with the belt. It tightens around my neck in the process, and I let out a choke.

Fuck it feels so good. On top of the burning sensation that floods me when Mack starts pounding into me hard and smacking his hips against my sensitive skin, asphyxiation will just naturally get your dick hard. I’m so high right now I don’t think I’ll ever come down from this cloud. I’m fucking shaking like a leaf on a tree now, but then he tugs again, cutting off my air completely so I slap the wall, and he lets up for a minute. I wish he didn’t have to, but he’s trying to get me off, not kill me, right?

So it happens a few more times. He slowly pulls the belt tighter and tighter while he fucks me, and when I can’t take it, I tap the wall, and he lets up for a minute so I can breathe. I’m in a headspace I can’t describe really. I hear him moaning and groaning behind me, my ass is on fucking fire, and I can’t fucking breathe. And just the amount of control he has over me right now. The way he gets off on my pain and suffering, the way he pushes me farther and farther each time, it’s amazing.

One final time it hits me just right, all those hard fast paced thrusts right up on my prostate have me so close, then he pulls on the belt, cutting off my air, then suddenly I’m floating. Standing on the edge of a cliff about to fall off. That last time, I don’t want him to stop, I can’t make him stop, because I _need_ this. So I close my eyes as he cuts off my air and I let go. Let myself fall right off that cliff. I come so intensely it hurts. And then, suddenly, my mind goes blank.

When I open my eyes I’m laying on my back on the bed, with Mack above me, loosening then sliding the belt off my neck. Evidently I passed out due to lack of oxygen and obviously Mack saw my hands slip off the wall so he stopped. Laid me down on the bed to get the belt off. As soon I can breathe I start coughing a little and turn my head to the side to cover my mouth to do that very thing. “You alright?” I hear him ask, and I try to nod.

“Oh f-fuck that was awesome,” I say when I can speak. Mack laughs disbelievingly.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts, you know that?” he says, and I grin at that.

“You like it though,” I say, and he sighs. Yeah, yeah I think he likes my level of crazy a whole helluva lot, actually. I’m still floating on cloud nine and I loop my arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss me. “Did you get off?” I murmur and he shakes his head.

“Almost,” he says. Which means he was more concerned with me than getting off. “I was close. That was fuckin’ hot.”

“Hmm, let’s fix that right now then.”

“Nah, I think you oughtta take a minute to-”

“I’m fine, Mack,” I laugh. “More than fine, believe me. Now let’s get you up to _my_ level, yeah?”

He sighs at me, shaking his head a little. “You know I can’t say no to you, right?”

My smile gets bigger. “I do now.” I pull him back to me before he can say anything. I feel that he’s still hard, still got the condom on nice and snug (I guess I was only out for a few seconds) And I wrap my legs around him and guide him in. I reach for his hand and place it on my throat in place of the belt, and he’s so turned on right now that every trace of blue in his eyes is fucking black, like a fucking demon. I swear this man is the most beautiful thing on this earth.

It doesn’t take him long to get off at all, and so now we’re both kind of sort of floating as he lets go of my neck and settles on top of me, gasping for air. “I uh,” he breathes. “I got a confession to make too,” he says. I lift a brow in curiosity. “I’ve been wantin’ to fuck you for years too.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” he nods. “And you know that night out at Smoke’s, on the back deck, when you told me you had a crush on me?”

“Yeah?”

“I was already plannin’ on gettin’ in your pants that night. Even before you told me you liked me.”

I chuckle a little at that. “So you always wanted me huh?”

“Yep,” he nods. “You’re damn right I did.”

“Was it as good as you hoped it would be?”

“Better.”

Wow. That’s one helluva confession. “So we’re both goin’ to hell.”

“Not me,” he denied, smiling. “I don’t even believe in that shit. But you on the other hand, you’re fucked.”

Probably. It was worth it though.

So fucking worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	20. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So I’m lifting the box of candles from the shelf, right? Well, I drop the box, some of the candles fall out, and they land on something solid hiding behind the clothes._
> 
> _I turn my phone back on to find the candles and see what I hit._
> 
> _It’s a guitar case._
> 
> _Mack plays guitar?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Behind Blue Eyes"–Limp Bizkit](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=ozllPih3hOk&feature=share)

It starts raining that night, while we’re making dinner.

We’re in the kitchen, Mack’s got some music playing on his phone while we make cheeseburgers and french fries, when suddenly it starts pounding on the tin roof hardcore and I know it’s going to be a bad storm tonight. Might even lose power for a little while. Hope not, because it always takes forever for the power company to come out here and fix that shit, but at the same time I kind of like it.

Lightning flashes and seconds later thunder rolls through the trailer park.

I love that sound.

I like thunderstorms, but they always make me kind of sleepy. Like, I’m some kind of human barometer or some shit. It never fails, whenever it’s about to rain I get groggy. I’m kind of sleepy now while we eat on the couch, and snuggle up to Mack afterwards while we’re digesting. My ass is still on fire from earlier, but I’m not bleeding or anything. I don’t know how he did it, made me feel like he cut me with a serrated blade, but without actually leaving any marks.

(Just some angry splotches of red that kind of feel like a really bad sun burn.)

But I’m full, satisfied both with food and sex, the rain is making me sleepy, and I’m cuddling with my dream guy, so I’m seconds from passing out right here on the couch.

But then he pulls me out of my happy little daze when he says, “There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.”

He gets up and goes over to the cabinet by the tv stand. I’ve never seen what’s in that cabinet, Mack’s never opened it, and I’m not a nosey little fucker that’s gonna go snooping around in his things, so I always assumed it was just like some papers or some shit. But he opens it and I see it’s actually his book shelf. There are several books by Ernest Hemingway, which is no surprise, but what he pulls out is a photo album resting on the top shelf.

“You showed me some of yours, figured I’d show you some of mine,” he says as he sits back down and splays the album across his lap. I’m excited. I get to see all those embarrassing photos of Mack that he never lets anyone see? You’re damn right I’m giddy. He opens up the album and the first thing I see is an old photo of a guy that I think at first is Mack, until I realize it’s the _other_ Eddie Macintosh. Yup, you guessed it. Eddie Sr.

Man, and here I thought I looked like my dad. But Mack I swear is a carbon copy of his. No shit, Eddie Sr was one handsome devil. And he and his son look like they could be twins. Except he also kind of looks like the woman that’s standing right next to him in the photo, and I realize that this is Sarah. Mack’s mom. I’ve never seen her before, but I know it’s her. She’s a fucking knock out. In the photo, they’re leaning against Eddie’s Indian motorcycle.

He used to ride all the time, like, bikes were his passion like poetry is mine. But he was also involved in a lot of bad shit. Mack and I have talked about it. Guns, drugs, you name it he probably got busted for it. But in the picture he’s all smiles, sitting on the bike in a black leather jacket, ripped up jeans, and boots. Sarah’s got her arm around him, she’s smiling too, and she’s wearing a little white dress, holding flowers. I think it’s their wedding photo.

Man, Mack looks so much like his dad. They’ve got the same long, kind of wavy dark hair, similar facial hair even, and that smug fucking grin that evidently runs in the family. Justin doesn’t have any pictures of his dad (Mostly because Linda put all this bullshit in his head about how horrible he was, and he and his dad weren’t really all that close.) So this is the first I’m seeing any of this. We flip through the book and Mack shows me more.

And Oh My Fucking GOD Mack as a baby is fucking adorable! The whole album is pictures of him when he was tiny and cute, with his mom, dad, and all their friends.

“No way,” I breathe when I actually see a picture of a younger Smoke holding two year old Mack. Sitting on the front porch of the same fucking house he lives in right now. Man he looks so young! Mack chuckles at the face I make. I know he said Smoke knew his dad too, but it’s still crazy to see just how far back they actually go. Maybe–and this is quite possible–Mack’s dad and my dad might have been friends too.

And those guys never had a clue they would one day be connected through all of us. But in all the pictures, Eddie Sr looks healthy. Most if not all were taken before Linda ever came in the picture, when Eddie and Sarah were still happily married. Way before he ever got sick. I can’t help but coo at the baby pictures, telling Mack how cute he was, and watch him roll his eyes and shake his head at me. I told you, I fucking love babies. Babies are fucking awesome.

I don’t think I could ever be a dad though, and have one of my own. I’m scared of being nothing but a horrible piece of shit to my kid just like my dad was. Guess I dodged a bullet being gay and too broke to adopt one, right? But we talk about all the photos in the album, laugh and joke together, and now more than ever do I love this man sitting beside me. But I kind of get nervous when we flip to the end and I see a few baby pictures of Justin too.

They’re all pictures of little Mack holding Justin and the two of them playing together. They look happy together. Mack seriously looks happy to be a brother, like he loves Justin to pieces and would do anything for him. Would maybe die for him even. Of course, I know things are different now. Granted, Mack loves his little brother, but after Linda got clean and sobered up, then divorced Eddie Sr, they slowly gravitated away from one another.

It was a messy break up. Not surprising, considering she basically married Eddie because she was pregnant, but she had a drug problem too. But unlike my mom, Justin’s mom went to rehab, got straightened up, and on a religious kick. Realized she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life married to Eddie. They tried counseling first, but just like with me and Justin, a lot of good that shit did in the end, because they split.

Right after the split, Eddie did some soul searching of his own, quit drinking and stopped snorting coke, but things were still bad with Linda. She was vindictive, just like Justin, and forever held shit over his head, and used it against him. Refused to let him see Justin at all when they first split. Finally he dragged her back to court and the judge saw that he was clean and sober, so she granted him weekend visits.

Linda remarried, and of course Mack was already eighteen and out of the house by the time all this came about. And he was like an Eddie 2.0 in her mind. She thought Mack was a bad influence on Justin. Talked mad shit on him all the time. And Justin, of course, took after his mom, way more than his dad, so he doesn’t exactly disagree with shit. The only reason he gives a fuck about Mack now is because he doesn’t care that he’s gay.

It fucking sucks, but at the same time, being on the outside looking in on the situation, I can see where things might be bad, but I can also see where they could be ten times worse. It’s just that seeing those photos of Justin and Mack together makes me feel guilty as shit that here I am, after having sex with Mack all weekend, while Justin is off at some concert, totally oblivious to any of this shit. I fucking hate myself for that.

I try to force Justin out of my head, but I know that no matter what, Justin would always be a part of my life, even if Mack and I lived happily ever after. Even if I took the dive, broke up with Justin, packed my shit and moved in with Mack, Justin would always be there. They’re brothers. That’s not going to change. And if I know Justin, he would forever hold it over his brother’s head that he lied to him, and fucked his boyfriend behind his back.

I don’t really want to think about that shit.

It’s true, but still…I don’t want to drag Mack down into my sudden shitty mood, so I close the photo album and lay my head on his shoulder.

But then the power goes out. Both Mack and I glance up when the lights go off, Mack muttering, “Shit,” under his breath. When it doesn’t immediately come back on, he gets up to look for a flashlight. “I think there’s some candles in the bedroom closet,” he tells me while he searches the cabinets in the kitchen, using his phone as a light source until he finds something better. I get up and go rummage through the closet.

I power on my phone to use the light of the screen as a flashlight and search the closet. I find the candles on the top shelf above the clothing wrack. There’s a bunch of different kinds, some are just regular but others kind of look like they belong on a candelabra or something. Like, they’re kind of fancy and shit. He probably bought the bundle for a discount price at some thrift shop just in case he ever needed them, like for emergencies.

But maybe Mack’s secretly romantic or something. I mean yeah, he’s a sadist, but when we’re not having sex he’s surprisingly soft and cuddly. He’s the most affectionate person on the planet, and he always finds ways to make me feel like he genuinely cares about me and shit. So I’m lifting the box of candles from the shelf, right? Well, I drop the box, some of the candles fall out, and they land on something solid hiding behind the clothes.

I turn my phone back on to find the candles and see what I hit.

It’s a guitar case.

Mack plays guitar?

I set the box aside to pick up the case and lay it flat on the bed. I really shouldn’t be snooping around Mack’s things like this, but I can’t help it. I flip the clasps and open the case, shining my phone on the guitar. It’s an old Washburn, covered in dust. Obviously he hasn’t played it in a while. I wonder why he stopped playing. I wonder a lot of things as I close the lid on the case and pull out candles and set them on the nightstand and the dresser.

“Well, I didn’t find a flashlight, but I think–Ah shit,” is what I hear from the door and I turn to grin at him. “Found that did ya?”

“You play guitar?” I ask excitedly, my smile only growing wider as I finish up with the candles on the dresser and move to the nightstand. He sighs and hangs his head.

“Yeah,” he drawls. “I play a little.”

“How come I’ve never heard you play?”

“Eh, kinda the same reason you never told anybody you like to write poetry,” he tells me, and I chuckle. Okay, I kind of understand where he’s coming from then.

“Well,” I flop down on the bed, “Why don’t you play me something.”

“I uh…I ain’t all that good really. And I’m kind out of practice. I haven’t picked it up in years.”

“Oh come on, I let you read my shitty poetry.”

“Now don’t start knockin’ your writin’,” he scolds me, shaking his finger. “That’s good shit. You oughta think about gettin’ that shit published.”

I gush a little at that. It’s bullshit, but still, it’s nice to hear. I click my tongue against my teeth. “Alright, fine. I’ll think about getting it published, _if_ …you play me a song.”

“Oh hell,” he curses. “You don’t wanna hear that shit. Your ears’ll start bleedin’ an’ the neighbors’ dogs’ll start barkin’ and howlin’ an’ shit, and next thing you know they’re callin’ the cops on my ass, thinkin’ I’m over here committin’ murder.”

“Oh come on, Mack,” I whine, sticking out my bottom lip and giving him my best puppy dog face. “It’s raining out, we got candles lit, and you’ve got a guitar. Romance me a little.” He looks at me like I’m the most ridiculous person on the planet, but also a little bit like he maybe kind of wants to. I was right, he’s a romantic. “Please baby,” I beg, biting my lip a little, and he physically melts at that, swaying a little when his knees buckle, sighing.

“Fuck. Alright then.”

Ha! He really can’t say no to me, can he?

I’m back to grinning like a fucking fanboy over here (Like, seriously I’m giddy as hell) while he picks up the guitar, sets the case aside, and settles on the edge of the bed. “Can’t believe I’m actually doin’ this shit,” he mutters. I notice something that I didn’t before when he sits down. I don’t know much about guitars, I’m not a musician, but I’m pretty sure this one is backwards. He holds the neck with his right hand instead of the left, and the strings are upside down.

The pick guard is on the wrong side, and he’s holding it all wrong. Okay, not wrong, just opposite. He picks the strings with his left hand instead of his right as he tunes them up because they’re a little off key. It’s a left handed guitar. Like, wow, Mack is left handed? I never noticed this. But he is. It’s kind of cool. Did you know that according to statistics only like ten to twelve percent of the world’s population are left handed? Those guys are rare.

Mack is one of those rare people. Fucking crazy right? He’s genuinely one in a million.

So he gets the guitar back in tune, then strums a few experimental chords, before clearing his throat. He takes a few seconds to think about what he wants to play, then nods a little to himself like he’s decided. His fingers tremble just a little, like he’s nervous. This is new. I’ve never known anything to make this man nervous. But finally he takes a few breaths, then starts playing a rift there’s no mistaking, because it’s that famous.

It’s the opening to Behind Blue Eyes. He botches a couple of notes, because he’s rusty, but not that many, and within a few bars he’s back into it like he’d never stopped playing. Apparently it’s just like riding a bike. Once you learn, you never forget. Soon, Mack’s fingers are gliding over the strings like a master. Liar. He doesn’t suck at this shit at all. It sounds good to me. But then…he starts _singing_ , and man, I flip the fuck out.

He sounds good. I mean _really_ good. Doesn’t sound anything like The Who, it’s more like Limp Bizkit’s cover version, but he makes it his own. Actually, you know who he sounds like? I’ll tell you who he sounds like. He sounds exactly like the dude from Audioslave. No lie. He could easily cover every single one of Soundgarden’s songs and you’d never know the difference. I melt as I’m listening to his voice, propping my head up with my hands.

It’s kind of funny, because ironically his appearance and style of dress totally scream Eddie Vedder, and if you don’t know who that is, you fucking suck. (I’m just kidding. You don’t suck, and he’s the lead singer of Pearl Jam. Yeah, he kind of looks like that guy, just slightly less psychotic.) But his voice channels the late Chris Cornell. Like his spirit possessed Mack’s body or something. It’s not perfect, but damn he sounds good.

I lose myself in this moment, listening to Mack play his guitar and sing. He never looks my direction, just keeps his eyes on the strings or the wall, and I think maybe it’s more than criticism he can’t handle. I think he has stage fright actually. He’s fine by himself, but not so good with an audience. Maybe that’s why he gave up on it. But yet he’s suffering through his anxiety to play just for me, and I find myself falling all over again for this guy.

When the song is over, I don’t give him a chance to wonder if I liked it. I’m grinning from ear to fucking ear, geeking over this shit, hugging my face with my hands and say, “That was _fucking_ awesome.” He scratches the back of his head and runs fingers through his hair. “Like, for real, man, that was fucking beautiful.” He shrugs a little like he doesn’t believe it. “Be humble all you want, but you’re still awesome. Where did you learn to play like that?”

“Taught myself mostly,” he shrugs. He points to the guitar, “Dad bought me this guitar one year for my birthday. Found it at a pawn shop. He didn’t know how to play, but he knew I wanted to. So I didn’t have a teacher or anything like that, just kind of had to pick shit up as I went along. But dad used to take me to this bar that used to be over on main street before they tore it down, and I’d watch the bands playing on open mic night.”

“Did he ever sing?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Then he stares at the bed for a moment. “Mom did.”

I blink a few times. Did his mom maybe have something to do with his anxiety too?

Also kind of shocked here that he’s willingly diving into a conversation about his mom.

He _never_ talks about his mom.

“Your mom could sing?”

He nods. “That was kinda how they met, actually. Dad wandered into the bar one night, and it just so happened to be a night mom was bartending. When she got on break, she went up on stage, and sang a song.” He glances up at the ceiling. “I think he said it was…I don’t know, I think it was a song by Linda Rondstat, maybe? Somethin’ like that. Anyway, he fell in love with her as soon as he heard her voice. Asked her out when she got off the stage.”

Obviously she said yes, because she later married Eddie and had a kid with him. I smile a little at that. I kind of get how Eddie must’ve felt, because I kind of fell in love with Mack all over again hearing his voice. I have so many questions about his mom, like, all I’ve ever heard of the woman is the little bits of info Justin gave me just so I wouldn’t ever ask about her again, but I don’t want to press Mack for details. Like, I don’t want to force that shit.

If he wants to tell me, he will, but if not, then oh well I guess.

He did the same for me with my dad. But…I guess that’s why he opens up, and gives me more. “Man he fuckin’ loved her more than life,” he sighs, hanging his head. “I’ve never heard a man talk about a woman the way he talked about my mom. And she loved us too. That’s why I just couldn’t understand how she could do that to us. I mean I know now that she couldn’t help it, she’s schizophrenic an’ shit, but I didn’t know that when I was little.

And man it fuckin’ hurt, when she pointed that gun at me.” Wait…what? I thought she tried to kill his dad, not Mack. “That’s how it happened,” he nods, like he’s reading my mind. “That’s how it started anyway. She wasn’t tryin’ to kill _him_. She pointed the gun at _me_ first, and he got between us, then he got shot tryna grab it out of her hands.” He rubs his chin for a moment. “To this day, I don’t know what to say to her.”

I don’t know what to say either. That’s some heavy shit. But I know that Mack is like me. He’s not telling me this because he needs reassurance. He’s just telling me because he trusts me, and he wants to get that shit off his chest. “Well,” I start, sitting up a little, “She gave you one helluva singing voice.” Mack snorts a little, shaking his head at me. But he’s smiling again, and it floods me with a kind of relief to see it. “Seriously, you sound good.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I mean it Mack. You’re pretty great. Like, you sound just like Chris Cornell.”

Mack furrows his brow. “The dude from Soundgarden?”

“The very same,” I nod.

“Well, shit. I never knew that. So you like Soundgarden?”

“Yeah. Know any of their songs?”

“I…yeah, yeah I do actually.”

I guess he needed the distraction, because this time around there’s no hesitance, as he gets a thought for the song he wants to play, then places his hand on the frets. He starts playing the best acoustic cover of Soundgarden I’ve ever heard. Okay, I need you guys to do me a favor. I need you to stop what you’re doing right now, go to YouTube, or whatever music app you use and look up Fell On Black Days by Soundgarden. Like, right now, do that shit.

What are you still doing here?! Go listen to the song already!

And I promise you when you do, you will hear Mack, because I swear to fucking God that’s what he sounds like. He doesn’t quite hit the notes just the way Chris did it, and doesn’t even try for the high parts, but it’s fucking great. Thank you, Sarah Macintosh, for giving me this man. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Eddie, you too, you son of a bitch. Your son is a fucking godsend. I light up a smoke and thank my lucky stars for those two.

So when that song is over, Mack isn’t nearly as tense as before. I can tell the song kind of has some personal meaning to him, which is why he learned to play it, but he’s not quite so anxious about playing music for me. Even offers to play more. “Wanna hear another?” he asks, and I nod. “Alright, I think I know somethin’ you might like. Just…sorry if I fuck it up.” He takes a deep breath. Then he starts to play.

My eyes threaten to pop out of my head.

He starts playing Snuff.

Holy shit he’s singing Slipknot!!

It’s storming outside, candles light the room, and the man of my dreams is playing fucking Slipknot?!

Fucking pinch me please.

I can’t even look at him anymore, because my face is beet red and I’m hiding behind my hands. I know, I’m acting like such a fucking twat right now, but I don’t care. Don’t get me wrong, Corey Taylor is one of a kind, and he’s got one helluva voice, but I think I love Mack’s version of the song even more. When the song is over, Mack chuckles a little at me, then sets the guitar aside, bent on making me swoon with that mouth but just not with singing.

But then the power flips back on and the room is flooded with light. Mack looks up. “Well shit. Guess we don’t need the candles.”

“No, fuck that. Turn the lights off.”

He chuckles a little and flips the lights back off.

I stamp my cigarette out in the ashtray and let him push me down on the bed, kissing that talented mouth and running my fingers through his hair. Damn. When this man romances a guy, he really goes all out, huh? He pulls away after a moment and looks down at me. “Why won’t you stay with me?” he asks me, and I tense up. Frozen, like a statue. “Shit. Don’t answer that. Forget I ever said it.”

He starts kissing me again, but the emotional flood gate’s already open now.

“Mack–”

“No, just…Don’t worry about it. Just forget it. I didn’t mean to–”

“Mack, I do want to stay with you,” I say, and now _he_ freezes. And once it’s said, I can’t stop the rest. “I don’t want to be with your brother, I want to be with you.” I brush my hand across his cheek. “I want _you_.”

“Then _stay_ ,” he begs me. “Don’t keep goin’ back to him, Len. Just stay right here with me. _Please_.”

I want to say yes, I’ll stay with you forever.

But I know I can’t.

So instead, I kiss him again, so that my mouth is too preoccupied to make a promise I can’t keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	21. Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You ain’t comin’ back, are you?” he asks._
> 
> _Goddamn it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Imperfect"–Stone Sour](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=8it5VJSyi1E&feature=share)

I’m the first one to wake Monday morning, and I can’t tell you how badly I wish I could roll back over and fall back to sleep in Mack’s arms. I scrub the sleep out of my eyes and glance back at him behind me. He’s out cold still, hair all in his face and shit, mouth open a little, snoozing like baby. I think about everything I said last night. Then I think about what’s waiting for me when I leave. Man, I really don’t want to leave.

I get up, go to take a piss, then stare at my reflection in the mirror while I’m brushing my teeth. Maybe Justin is right, I should really do something about my hair, because it’s kind of a mess. Starting to hang down in my eyes and stick up in odd places, and no matter which way I comb that shit, it doesn’t want to lay right. Most of the time I don’t even bother with it, just wear a hat to cover it up, but it’s starting to be a fucking nuisance.

I go straight to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. Then I make breakfast. As soon as I light up a cigarette I hear an alarm go off, minutes later the bedroom door opens and closes, then feet shuffle to the bathroom. Mack is up. I try not to think too hard about what I’m going to say to him, and just concentrate on keeping the eggs from burning in the skillet. My culinary magic is a little lackluster this morning because I’m stressed.

I have to get back to my apartment before Justin gets home. If he gets back and sees that not only is everything exactly the way it was when he left, but that there’s a bag of my clothes missing and so am I, he’ll ask questions. There’s no way I’ll avoid an argument, and I don’t want to escalate shit if I can help it. I think again about what I said to Mack last night, and I realize that I _can’t_ stay. Justin has my car, and an apartment full of my shit.

A fit of pique and a blowtorch is all it would take to erase the last eight years, and I am _not_ about to let Justin ruin me like that. So I’ll wait until he goes to work and pack my shit while he’s gone. It’s not like I have much anyway. Just more clothes, and my laptop and shit. But I swear to fucking God if Justin were to ever torch my Slipknot merchandise I would go to jail over that shit, better believe it. So yeah, I gotta be careful about this shit.

Can’t go all half-cocked with this. It needs to be planned carefully. Because if I know my boyfriend, he’ll have all the locks changed on the doors before I even get home, fucking trash my shit, toss it in the dumpster, and maybe–just _maybe_ –I might get my car back in one piece. Like, he’s a vengeful little fucker. Plus I know he’ll drag my ass to court because we share the lease on my apartment. I have to minimize the damage where I can.

So I’m cooking eggs in the kitchen when Mack comes in wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and pours a cup of coffee. He looks kind of pissed about something, but that’s normal for him this early in the morning. He’s not a morning person, and it takes him a while to get awake. He doesn’t say a word, and neither do I. I’m not about to start into this shit before he’s even had a sip of coffee. That’s just rude to blindside somebody like that.

So I wait for him to break the silence first. It comes about after we’ve had breakfast in the kitchen, Mack checks the time on his phone then sighs, running fingers through his hair. “I gotta start gettin’ ready for work,” he tells me. “Gotta be there in an hour.”

And here goes nothing.

“Do you mind dropping me off at my apartment on the way?” I ask him, and he winces a little. Like it physically hurt him just now to hear anything other than, ‘I’ll be here when you get back.’ Fuck. This is not going to be easy. “If Justin comes home before I do and sees that not only is everything exactly how he left it, but I’m missing and so is a bag of my clothes? That’s drama I don’t need.”

Oh but then Mack furrows his brow at me, like I’m fucking ridiculous. “Just tell him you stayed with me this weekend,” he says, like it’s a no brainer. “You ain’t gotta lie about that shit.”

“Mack–”

“–I mean, shit, even if you’re worried about him figurin’ it out, ain’t like we’re strangers. Hell, the two of us are better friends than he and I ever were. He ain’t gonna be all that surprised if you leave him and turn around and come stay with me, is he? If you ain’t got nowhere else to go. You ain’t even gotta tell him we’re together, Len. Ain’t nobody has to know about that shit but us, if that’s what you want.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

I open my mouth then close it, frustrated, and trying very hard not to word this the wrong way. “Look he’s got my car, and half my shit. If I tell him I’m breaking up with him, shit’s not gonna go well, and I know how he will be, Mack. I don’t want him trashing my stuff. It’s better if I just wait til he’s gone and pack my shit and go. Because when I go, I don’t ever wanna have to go back there again, and deal with him.”

Mack gives me a half nod. “Then I’ll go with you. I’ll make sure he doesn’t touch your shit. I’ll just call off work, and we can go get it right now. And I’ll stay there with you ‘til you get your car back. If he wants to start problems, he can deal with me. He ain’t gonna walk all over me like he does you. He knows better than to pull that shit with me. And unlike you, I don’t have a problem poppin’ him in the mouth if he wants to get smart.”

“Yeah and then he’s calling the cops on you, your ass is in jail, and I gotta go bail you out.” He shrugs like he legitimately does not give a fuck if he goes to jail over me. “No. No, I’m _not_ dragging into my bullshit, Mack. I know you’re tryna look out for me, but this is between me and Justin. Doesn’t have anything to do with you. Just…just let me handle it. Please.”

“Goddamn it, Len,” he curses, getting up from the stool and circling around the counter to stand in front of me. “Why are you fightin’ with me on this, huh? ‘Cause it kinda sounds to me like you’re just making excuses to go back to him. Which one of us do you want, baby? Me or him. Make up your goddamn mind!”

“It ain’t like that, Mack!”

“The hell it ain’t! Because I _know_ you, Len! I know the second you walk through that door, he’ll find a way to guilt you into stayin’! Because you can’t stand the idea of him gettin’ hurt in all this. So instead you tiptoe around his ass, runnin’ to me every time he drives you up the wall, then fuckin’ punish yourself for that shit by runnin’ back. Stop runnin’, Len! Stop doin’ that to yourself! ‘Cause it’s gonna end up runnin’ you into the fuckin’ ground!”

Well fuck. I don’t know what to say to that.

It’s the truth, isn’t it? And maybe he’s right, it’s all just excuses. If I leave this house and go back to my apartment, fuck, how long will it take this time around to come back to him? Would I really wait for Justin to go to work, then pack all my shit and walk away from the last eight years? But if I stay with Justin, how long will Mack keep waiting for me like he does? I see it in his eyes, and I hear it in his words. This isn’t just about him looking out for me.

This is about him too.

He’s getting tired of waiting for me.

And if I leave, this might be it for us.

But I don’t know if I’m even ready for an ‘us’.

“What do you want from me, Mack?” I ask, quietly, because I’m not even irritated anymore, except maybe at myself. But I’m not twitching or anything. Just feel shitty really. Mack does this to me, every time he gives me that look. Makes me feel like I kicked a puppy.

A huge puppy that sounds like Chris Cornell when he sings.

Mack gives me a good long and hard look, before reaching for his phone again, but sets it back down and scrubs his face with his hands. He thinks I’m not coming back. I…honestly don’t know if I will. But I know I have a lot of thinking to do, and I can’t do that with Mack around to distract me. I need to be thinking with a clear head, which means I can’t let Mack sway my decision making here. Because whatever I decide, there’s no going back from it.

And eventually I’ll have to confront Justin anyway. Sooner or later, and I would rather it be later, after I’ve got my shit together, and figure out what I’m going to do, and where I’m going to go. If I’m even leaving at all.

I don’t know, because part of me is still questioning this. Like, if Mack really wants to be with me, or if he’ll only hurt me later on, same as I’m doing to Justin right now.

I hold my breath and wait for a response.

Something, _anything_ , to reassure me that I’m not making a huge mistake.

But finally he just closes his eyes and slowly shakes his head.

“Hell, I don’t know, baby,” he groans. I watch him deflate in a sigh. Then shrugs a little. “I…I guess I really shouldn’t be tellin’ you what to do. That ain’t fair. And it don’t make me any better than my brother, does it?…Get your stuff together. I’ll take you home.”

Well, that…that wasn’t… _precisely_ what I was hoping for.

I was kind of hoping for more of a, “I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, and if I have to watch you slink back to my brother one more fuckin’ time, goddamn it, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

But I get it.

And at least he’s not trying to control me.

I go and quietly collect my stuff, tossing my clothes back in my bag, and the lockbox too. Mack gets ready for work, and I get dressed as well. We don’t say a word in the truck, on the way to my apartment. I don’t like it. I mean, I’m used to it always being pretty quiet between us, because Mack’s never been much of a talker and neither have I, but this awkward, strenuous silence has every part of me on edge.

And he doesn’t hold my hand while he’s driving either.

I glance at him periodically as he’s driving, and his face is too neutral for me to judge what he’s really feeling right now, but when he pulls into the parking lot, he shifts into park and shuts off the engine, like he’s not going anywhere just yet, so no reason to leave the truck running. Then he stares at me. I don’t know what to say, so I just hold my breath for whatever is lurking behind that pensive gaze.

“You ain’t comin’ back, are you?” he asks.

Goddamn it.

I look away. “I…I don’t know, Mack,” I answer, and I hear him huff disbelievingly. “I’ll call you later.”

I grab my bag and get out. I don’t look back as I’m walking up to my door, but I hear the truck rumble as it roars back to life, then a foot smashes the gas pedal, and tires screech when he pulls out of the parking lot.

* * *

What do I keep doing this to myself?

I mean, Mack is right, the entirety of our relationship is like one big revolving door. Stuck on this definitive loop. It’s like playing the same song on repeat. Run to Mack when I get tired of Justin, but then feel guilty about cheating on him and run right the fuck back. As soon as I walk through the door and set my bag down in the living room, I know he’s right, because I feel that feeling overwhelming me again. I feel like a total piece of shit.

And the cycle continues.

As I’m unpacking my clothes I realize all the excuses I made to come back here weren’t really because I was actually going to pack my shit and move out. It was me running away from Mack. As I’m staring at the clutter, then slowly start picking everything up, and take out the garbage, I realize that I’m just scared. That’s all it is. I’m just as scared to commit to Mack as I am of walking away from the last eight years of my life.

And by the time I’ve finished cleaning, I’ve already blown my brains out mentally like five million times over this shit.

But I just manage to get my stuff put away and the apartment cleaned up when Justin gets home. I guess he dropped Sam off at her mom’s house first because he’s alone. But he’s laughing at something, phone held up to his hear. He quiets when he sees me. “I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever it is, and plasters a smile on his face. “Hey, babe,” he greets, walking around the counter to hug me, as I’m standing in the kitchen.

“Uh, hey. I was just about to call and see where you’re at. How was the concert?” I ask, wrinkling my brow in confusion at how normal he’s acting. Like we have no problems in our relationship whatsoever, and he’s actually happy to see me. Or, happy about something, anyway. I let him hug me, and stare down at him in confusion because suddenly he’s got this dreamy, faraway look in his eyes.

“It was wonderful,” he sighs. Then he blinks a few times. “I mean, yeah, it was great. Really great. Sam and I had a good time.”

“I’m glad.”

“So, what did you do while I was gone?” he chirps brightly, kind of giddy, and like he’s actually curious of how I’ve been spending my time. Like he cares.

I shrug. “Went to Smoke’s,” I say. “Him and Andy had a cook-out on Saturday.”

And there it is. The smile fades, and slowly morphs into a scowl. Apparently, the only acceptable answer would’ve been, ‘Nothing but sit home, alone, and miss you terribly.’

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me!” he huffs, tearing himself away from me and crossing his arms. “You opted out of going to the concert just so you could party with your loser friends all weekend, didn’t you?! You weren’t just trying to give me my space, were you?! You just wanted to stay out all night and get drunk and high! I can’t believe you! And you didn’t even think about me at all, did you? Let alone maybe actually _miss_ me!”

Okay now _this_ is the Justin Macintosh I’m more familiar with.

But this is some bullshit. Not like he missed me either. I didn’t get one single call or text from him the whole fucking time. Like the second he left, I didn’t exist to him either. And he makes me sound like I did nothing but drink the entire time.

“Whoa, hold on! Back the fuck up! I wasn’t there the whole weekend, Justin. But yes, I went to the cook-out, and we played some beer pong and shit. What the fuck is your deal, huh? Why you gotta blow shit clear out of proportion on me like that?!”

He fidgets for a second, glaring at me, before he scoffs. “You’re a _fucking_ liar,” he sneers. “I know you better than that. So don’t even try to play that game with me. You were drunk the whole fucking weekend, I know you were.” He cuts me off before I can respond with, “You know what? Whatever. I like literally _can’t_ with you right now? So fine, go be a fucking loser then. Ruin your fucking life. See if I care.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

After he’s finished going off on me, he snatches his bag off the kitchen floor and carries it to the bedroom, slamming the door and then locking it.

You know what the craziest part about all of this is?

Justin’s 100% right this time around.

I didn’t miss this at all.

Kind of fucked up, ain’t it?

So I guess I’m back to square one with Justin. Oh and I guess Mack was right too. Because I do feel guilty right now, and I do feel bad for lying to Justin about what I got up to this weekend. But something about this just isn’t right. Like, this whole situation. The way Justin was all smiles at first, but then somehow found a reason to be pissed at me, like he wanted something to be wrong when he got home? Like he needed an excuse to be mad at me?

But I don’t have time to react to it really, because my phone starts ringing in my pocket. I hear Foo Fighters playing and I know it’s Lee calling me. I pick up the call. “Hello?” I answer.

“Hey, Lenny,” she says. “Uhm, are you busy?”

Guess not. “Not really, I mean, Justin just got back, but why? What’s up?”

Lee sighs on the other end, “I need to talk to you about something. But like, just not over the phone? So could you maybe come over? Just you. It’s…it’s about Justin.”

“Uh, okay, yeah, I’m on my way.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few.”

We hang up and I think about this for a second.

This…isn’t what I think this is, is it?

I walk across the apartment to our bedroom, then bang on the door. “Babe, I need my keys! I’m goin’ out!” I half expect there to be a problem, but to my surprise–and relief–I hear nothing but the sound of Justin’s feet stomping across the floor. Then I see my keys slide under the door, clinking against my shoe. Damn. Can’t even open the door to hand me my keys normally and shit? This is a whole new level of ghosting for Justin.

But I take my keys and walk out, before I run the risk of opening my mouth and making shit worse.

I think I fucked up again.

Like, maybe I should’ve listened to Mack.

But hey, at least I don’t smell any of my shit burning. (Yet.)

Just my bridges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	22. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“How long has this been going on?”_
> 
> _“For like, six months.”_
> 
> _Wow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Best Of You"–Foo Fighters](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=0N-wl3LzINQ&feature=share)

I drive across town to Lee’s apartment, stopping at the gas station first. My tank’s empty. Justin ran all the gas out of my car, and didn’t fill it back up. Sam was supposed to help him pay for food and gas for the trip (She borrowed the money from her mom), but obviously neither one of them thought it might be a good idea to refill the tank. Good thing I noticed that shit. So I swipe my card at the pump and top off.

When I get to Lee’s, she’s standing outside, leaning against the banister, waiting for me. She looks good today, wearing white washed jeans and a crop top, with a flannel shirt thrown over it, sleeves rolled up, and high tops. Hair’s all loose, falling around her shoulders. Looks kind of like a female Mack. She is a lot like Mack really. That’s why I like her. Always so laid back and chill, going with the flow of life. Well, usually, at any rate.

Not right now though. Right now, as I’m stepping out of the car, then walking up the steps, she looks pretty tense. She sounded pretty serious on the phone, which kind of has me worried, because she usually doesn’t. But she isn’t all smiles like she normally is. “Hey,” she says as I walk up. I smile a little and give a, “What up,” Then give her a quick hug, before she waves her hand, gesturing to the open door and we head inside.

I flop down on the couch next to her. She’s got a fairly nice apartment. And of course it’s filled with things like Marvel movie posters, shelves lined with various action figures still in their packages, a few boxes in the corner that contain comic books, hand painted art that she did in one of her classes. Various rock band merchandise, and a book case with every Marvel movie yet to be made, along with dozens of cartoon tv series.

She sits down and the first thing she sees is my hand.

“Oh my god, what happened to your hand?” she gasps, reaching for it, when she notices the marks from where I busted Calvin’s face. Shit. I forgot about that. Justin didn’t even notice either. Too busy running his mouth and spouting his bullshit. Like he could care less about anything but how much of an inconsiderate piece of shit I am. But obviously Lee noticed. She holds my hand and lightly runs her thumb over the splotches of red.

I adjust the hat on my head and shrug a little.

“Got in a fight the other night,” I admit. “Some punk was messin’ with one of my friends, like, calling him a fag and shit, so I fucked him up.”

She snorts at that. “But, like, are you okay though? That looks like it hurts. Sure you don’t maybe want to go to the hospital or something and have it x-rayed? It could be broken.”

I open and close it a few times, flexing it. “It’s fine. A little sore, but it’s not that bad. Like, I can still use it an’ shit. I’ve had worse.”

She nods a little and lets go of my hand. Then she gets quiet for a minute. She’s always quiet, but now she’s even more quiet than usual, and it bothers me. “So what did you want to talk about?” I ask.

She sighs. She looks super uncomfortable too. “I didn’t really know if I should say anything, because it’s like none of my business, but…Justin’s cheating on you. I’ve…I’ve known for a while now, but I just…I didn’t think it was right to, you know, like get involved. And I mean, Justin, he’s my friend too, but…” She sighs again. “It’s just not right. I mean, he treats you like shit, and I just…I couldn’t watch him do this to you. I’m…I’m sorry, Lenny.”

Oh.

Show of hands, how many people saw that coming?

“Damn,” I curse, shaking my head a little. “Man, I _knew_ somethin’ was up.”

Yeah, and I bet a lot of shit makes sense now, huh? Like, I know what you guys are thinking. Some of you even called that shit, like, back in a previous chapter, with that suspicious phone call I misinterpreted as a conversation between Justin and Sam. Yeah, obviously I was wrong. Like, holy fuck Justin is cheating on me! Damn, that explains everything! Maybe all his erratic behavior is because he’s trying to cover up the fact that he’s hiding shit from me.

Maybe that’s why he’s always trying to find a problem where there isn’t one, because he needs there to be something wrong with our relationship to alleviate his guilt, because he’s a fucking cheater. So he nitpicks everything I say and do and flips it around to make me look bad, and in his twisted little mind it somehow justifies his behavior. And maybe this therapy bullshit is a last ditch effort to save a ship that’s sinking on _both_ sides.

Like, he knows we’re doomed to fall apart, but he has to make it look like it’s my fault, that at least he gave it his best shot, otherwise he’s just a lying piece of shit.

But then I blink rapidly, because I’m still not 100% sure this is really what’s going on.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up, hold up. What makes you think he’s cheating on me?”

Another sigh. Then Lee pulls out her phone. She pulls up pictures, screenshots she saved, of a conversation between Sam and Justin on Facebook Messenger. “She logged in on my phone and forgot to log out. Like seriously, she’s so dumb. But I knew if I confronted either one of them about that shit, they’d just deny it, and delete all the texts, so I saved it to my phone. I’ve got extra copies in my cloud storage, in case she ever found them.”

She hands the phone to me and shows me the pictures.

Like, fuck, she’s got proof?!

I scroll through the pictures of texts, Justin basically bragging about fucking some dude named Mark, who he met online, that lives a few hours away. Sam seems to think it’s hilarious that I don’t suspect a thing. But Justin talks like he’s totally in love with this guy, how he’s so fucking perfect, he’s… _He’s_ the guy that Justin’s been trying to turn me into. This guy. This is the fucker that Justin pictures when he closes his eyes while we’re fucking.

“How long has this been going on?”

“For like, six months.”

Wow.

In my mind I flash back to every snippit of odd behavior on Justin’s part and it clicks in my mind how it might correlate to Justin’s infidelity. Like maybe those double shifts he’s been working lately weren’t actually him working. Makes sense. He says he’s getting screwed on his taxes, which is why he’s always broke, but he tosses his pay stubs before I can see them. Oh and whenever he spends the night at Sam’s? It’s a cover too.

Sam has been Justin’s cover for the last six months, which is probably why he kisses up to her even though she’s such a bitch. So she doesn’t run and tell me what’s been going on. But she didn’t count on Lee finding the texts and having the balls to bring that shit to me. “Does Sam know that you know?” I ask, and Lee shakes her head. Okay, so they wouldn’t know that I might find out about this shit.

“And you know the concert they just went to? He hooked up with Mark while they were gone.”

Oh, so _that’s_ why he was so happy I stayed home. And why his weekend was so ‘wonderful’.

“I don’t get it. Like, he talks like this guy is so perfect. Why doesn’t he just leave me and go be with him then? Why is he even trying to work shit out with me?”

Lee snorts a little. “Because he’s married.”

“No shit?” I quip, and she nods. She takes her phone back when I hand it to her and pulls up his profile on Facebook. “That’s him?” I ask, and she nods. I get a good look at him and yep, he’s just what I pictured. Dresses like a douchebag. Wears polos and khakis. Facebook status says married. To some woman named Bridgette. They’ve even got a kid. Obviously he’s still in the closet about shit, fucking around on his wife with guys he meets online.

And the latest is my boyfriend of eight years. “He can’t get Mark to leave his wife,” Lee explains. “But he tells Justin all the time how he’s in love with him, and wants to be with him, promises he’ll leave her soon, but he never does. So there’s been this whole back and forth, like, one minute they’re happy, the next they’re fighting. And I think part of him does still care about you too, ‘cause you guys have been together for so long.”

Shit.

My instinct is to be pissed. Maybe even hurt. I mean I’m pretty shocked by it, because I never pegged Justin for this type of person. I don’t know if it’s my own guilt making me project this image of Justin as some sort of benevolent counterpart to my evil, but I just always felt that maybe Justin really was a semi decent guy, but that he was just all wrong for me. But no, no he’s really not all he makes himself out to be, is he?

But see I can’t really be mad though. Because what have I been doing with Mack while he’s out of town? I look up at Lee, who looks like she’s got some serious pity for me right now, and I wish she didn’t. “Look, Lee, I appreciate you tryna look out for me and shit, but…I got something I gotta tell you. I’m…I’m no saint, Lee. I’ve been fucking up too. I…” I take a deep breath. “I’ve been fucking his brother.”

Lee’s brows go up. “Wait, Mack is gay?” I nod at that. She hums. “You know, that kind of makes sense, actually. I mean, I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend, and he’s always been such a recluse.” Her eyes rake over me for a second. “So you guys are a thing, huh?” Again, I nod, because I’m too nervous to speak. “Figures. I bet you guys have like way more in common than you do with Justin. But, like, do you love him?”

I swallow. The last time she asked me that question, she asked me if I loved Justin. (Shit, maybe that’s why she asked me that. She knew about this shit even then. But maybe wasn’t sure how badly I might take the news.) But I couldn’t answer. Fuck. I’ve never admitted this out loud. “I…I think I do, yeah. He’s…fuck, he’s great. But…but I mean, it’s Justin’s brother. Like, that shit’s fucked up.”

“Well, like, at least you have a legitimate excuse to cheat on him,” she shrugs. “He walks all over you and treats you like shit. But what have you ever done to Justin to deserve that? Like, you’ve got problems and stuff, but I mean everybody does. And like you get mad sometimes, but you’ve never laid a hand on him, so what’s his excuse?”

“I…I don’t know.” I scratch my head. I’m not a very good judge of my actions. What I might perceive as justified behavior might not actually be to an outsider’s point of view. But I know it’s wrong to cheat. “Still doesn’t make it right.”

Lee shrugs. “Well, at least you guys are sort of even then.” She laughs a little. “And I guess I don’t have to feel all that bad about ruining your relationship.” I snort a little at that. “So, like, you wanna get high? I think we need to get high.”

“You smoke?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell Justin though. You know he’ll just bitch about that shit.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, four-twenty?”

“Fuck yes,” I sigh, then sit back on the couch while Lee pulls out her stash and rolls a joint.

This totally explains why she’s always so chill.

Holy shit. Lee’s fucking awesome. Again, have I mentioned how much I fucking love this chick?

“So like, you and Mack, how did that happen?” she asks me.

* * *

I tell her everything. I start with freaking out about coming out to Justin’s family, all the trouble we’d been having because of that shit, then seeing Mack at a party, admitting to him that I liked him. It was just a random thing at first, and I’d totally planned on breaking up with Justin, but then he suggested we take therapy, like maybe there was something between the two of us still that was worth holding onto, so I gave it a shot.

I tell her about my inability to stay away from Mack, like he just sucks me back in like a vortex and I can’t control myself around him. I tell her about the back and forth between wanting to stay with Mack and feeling guilty and running back to Justin. “–I mean, at first it was just about the sex, but…Like, Mack, he really gets me, and he makes me feel like he genuinely cares about me and shit. I’ve never felt like that before…”

I pour my heart out to Lee, letting all of it roll off my shoulders as it falls out of my mouth. Lee listens patiently throughout and nods understandingly at parts, occasionally commenting or asking me questions, but mostly just lets me get it out of my system. I catch her up to current date on everything that’s been happening, and how I almost stayed with Mack this morning instead of coming home.

Finally, when it’s over, she hums thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s not trying to control you because he _does_ love you back,” she says. “And like, maybe he’s scared of this too. I mean, maybe he’s afraid of getting attached for all the same reasons. He could be just as scared as you to take the next step and progress to something more serious.”

I shrug a little. “Maybe, but…can I really trust a guy that doesn’t care about hurting his brother like that?”

“Maybe he does care,” she shrugs. “But he also loves you, and so he’s torn between his feelings for Justin and his feelings for you.” Okay, yeah, that actually makes sense. I kind of picked up on that shit already, but it’s different hearing someone else point it out to me. “And maybe he’s worried that you would never feel the same about him. Maybe that since you’re cheating on Justin, then you might turn around and cheat on him too.”

“I wouldn’t,” I say.

“Yeah I don’t believe you would either,” Lee tells me. “I mean I know the saying, ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater,’ but it’s _not_  always true. Not if you really love someone. When you really love someone, they’re all you think about. I cheated once. And then I dated a girl that I was 100% faithful to. It depends on the person and your feelings for them.” That totally makes sense. But for real, Lee cheated on someone?

“You’ve cheated before?” I chuckle, and she nods. “You’re so bad.”

She grins at that. “It was so worth it. Like, this girl was the whole package. Straight tens across the board.”

“Sweet,” I say, and we fist bump. I love Lee. Have I mentioned I love Lee? So much. I seriously think she could be my platonic ride or die. “Man, I don’t know what to do about this shit with Mack though.”

“Can I ask you though, like, what are you _really_ afraid of?”

I sigh a little. “To he honest I don’t know. But it’s just… Look, all my family is dead. I have maybe a handful of people in my life that I can count on, including you, but ever since my grandma died, I just… I don’t know really. It’s just that sometimes I feel like the people I love just end up dying on me.”

Lee looks at me like she just had an epiphany. “That kind of makes sense. You’re not just afraid of Mack not feeling the same about you. What you’re _actually_ afraid of is that he _does_. Like that he might actually love you back, and you’re scared to commit to that, because you’re afraid you’ll lose him too. And Justin is just easier to fall back on because at least with him you know what you’re getting yourself into. Like a really bitchy safety net.”

“You’re probably right. You sure you wanna go to school for art?” I chuckle. “Like maybe you should switch to psychology.”

She laughs a little.

Alright, enough about me, I think we need new subject.

“So, like, I’ve gotta ask. Why do you fuck around with Sam?”

She shrugs and just kind of rolls her eyes at herself, like she can’t explain it.

“I don’t know. I mean, the sex isn’t even all that great. Like, she sucks in bed. But she’s hot though.” She stares at the wall for a minute, but then pulls out her phone. “There’s…there’s a girl I want to get with though,” she says, and she pulls up a picture of her. She’s cute. She’s black, she likes a lot of rap and hip-hop, and she’s a tomboy. Profile says her name is Nay. “We talk sometimes. She’s in one of my classes. And she’s really cool. But…I don’t know if she likes me.”

“Is she gay?”

“Oh yeah, yeah she’s gay. But I don’t know if I’m her type or anything.”

“Well, ask her out,” I shrug, like it’s that easy. I mean it is really. I may not have a handle on my problems, but Lee’s? I got this.

“I…I can’t do that. What if she says no? Can we say awkward?” I laugh a little at that. Then I get an idea. I snatch her phone. “Oh my god, what are you doing?!” I pull up Messenger. I see that Nay is online right now, so I type, ‘Hey, was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.’ Lee sees the text. “Oh my god.” Nay immediately replies, thinking it’s Lee, with, ‘You mean like on a date?’ So I type ‘Yeah’. “Oh no,” Lee groans.

We wait. Seconds later she types back, ‘Sure. I’d love to. When?’

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD!” Lee gasps and honestly looks like she’s having a panic attack because she’s so excited. “Oh my god she said yes! I can’t believe she actually said yes!”

“You’re welcome,” I smirk, and she glances at me, then elbows my side. We both laugh. She messages back and forth with Nay for a little while and shows me the texts.

We end up shoulder to shoulder with our heads together. “Thank you,” she says. Then she sighs. “Fuck, I’m out of weed. Can you take me to my uncle’s house? He lives kind of far out there, so I can give you gas money if you need.”

“Oh it’s no problem. So who’s your uncle?”

“You know Smokey Stevens?”

“Shit, yeah, I do!” I laugh. “Smoke’s your uncle? I never knew that. Like, I’ve known him basically my whole life and he never told me.”

She laughs. “He probably got high and forgot about it,” she shrugs. “Like, for real, he forgets so much shit all the time.”

“No doubt. I think he forgets his own damned name half the time.”

“I know right? So you know him too, huh?”

“Yeah, he knew my dad and shit. Kinda raised me too. He’s like family to me. Guess we’re kind of cousins.”

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Come on, let’s go to Smoke’s.” So I grab my keys and my cigarettes off the coffee table, Lee grabs her wallet and her house key, and we head out. We blast Foo Fighters the entire car ride, singing at the top of our lungs. We probably sound horrible, I know I can’t sing for shit, but we don’t care. I stop at Mack’s house first though. By now I know he’s off work, and we need to talk about some shit. I see his truck, which means he’s home.

I pull up in the driveway and honk the horn. Mack comes out wearing nothing but jeans and he’s barefoot too. Looks fresh out of the shower. “Hey Lee,” he smiles at her and she waves from the passenger’s seat. He comes to rest his elbows on the window. He’s smiling, but he shoots me a questionable glance. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms this morning, did we? But I’m smiling like not a damn thing is wrong. “How’s it goin’?” he asks.

“Not bad,” Lee answers.

“We were going out to Smoke’s house,” I say. “Did you know that’s her uncle?”

“No shit?” he chuckles. “Nah, I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah me neither…So, you wanna come with? There’s…some things I need to talk to you about,” I add, more serious. He nods a little.

“Just lemme get dressed,” he says and heads back inside.

He comes back out with a beater on and his boots, shoving his keys and wallet in his pockets. Hair combed back and tied at the nape of his neck. Then he climbs in the back seat. We share a glance in the rear view mirror.

But then I turn my eyes back to the dash and shift into reverse, pulling out of the driveway.

My heart races.

I don’t know how this is going to go, but I’ve got shit on my mind, and only Mack has the answers to my questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	23. Synchronicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I can’t hide what I am to him. I could never in a million years hide from Mack what he does to me, how he makes me feel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Infra-Red"–Three Days Grace](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=stLbzhmtxMc&feature=share)

There’s a house full of people when we arrive. I’ve got a smile on my face because it’s some of the best fucking people on this planet. Smoke is in his recliner of course, Andy’s on the couch, Amy is sitting in his lap smoking a cigarette, and her cousin Trevor is at the other end of the couch, laughing hysterically at something Smoke just said when we walk in. “Hey Love-Lee!” Smoke drawls with a smile when he sees Lee.

“Hey Uncle Smokey,” she greets, walking around the couch to give him a hug then peck his cheek with a kiss. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How’ve you been, kiddo?”

“I’ve been doing alright. So like what happened to the coffee table?”

I see that Andy replaced the old wooden coffee table I busted with something cheap and plastic. Smaller, with only maybe enough room for one ashtray and people’s drinks, but it’ll work. Mack walks off to the kitchen to grab a few fold-out chairs for us, that way everyone has a place to sit. Trevor smiles when he sees me and stands up to give me a hug too. “Hey Lenny,” he says. I smile when I see him. I’m thinking of adopting him.

“Hey Trevor. How’s it goin’, man.” I hug him tight, patting him on the back and we get to talking for a minute before Mack comes back to the living room.

So Trevor ends up making room for Lee on the couch while Mack and I kick back in the fold-out chairs. Lee buys a bag from her uncle then packs his bong. We pass it around and catch each other up on what’s been going on. Lee and I don’t mention our conversation about Justin and Mack, but we talk about other things. School, work and shit. She shows everybody pictures of some of the tattoos she’s drawn for people.

I can hardly believe this. All of my favorite people in one room together. Never thought I’d see that. But either I smoke way too much weed, or I’ve just been so out of touch with shit that I never even realized we all knew each other like this. Mack kind of has a similar look on his face. But he catches me staring for a second or two, and lifts a brow at me. I look away and scratch my head. Still trying to figure out what I’m going to say.

But finally, after a while, I work up the nerve to say, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I gesture to the back of the house where we’ll have privacy. He nods and follows me through the house. I lead him back to the bathroom, close and lock the door behind us. He leans on the bathroom sink, and I lean back against the door, repeatedly adjusting the hat on my head in nervousness. I’m high as fuck, so I’m calm, but paranoid I’ll fuck this up.

Like, I don’t even know what I want right now, but the last thing I want is for me and Mack to fight about shit. So I at least want to get past all that.

Mack shoves his hands in his pockets. “What’s goin’ on?” he prompts, and I take a deep breath.

“Found out some shit earlier,” I exhale, folding my arms. “Justin’s been cheating on me with some dude named Mark for the last six months.”

There’s a pause. Then…

“Well, damn,” Mack lifts a brow.

“Yeah. Lee showed me the texts between him and Sam about it. The dumb bitch left her Facebook account open on Lee’s phone. She’s been covering for him. Like, every time he says he’s going to stay the night at Sam’s he’s actually going to meet up with this guy. Like, he’ll have him swing by and pick him up and shit after I drop him off. They don’t know that we know about it though.”

“Are you gonna confront him about that shit?”

I let out a grunt of a sound and shake my head. “Probably not, no,” I say. “I mean, you know how he is. He’d just find a way to twist that shit around and convince me it’s my own damned fault. That I’m a horrible piece of shit that _drove_ him into the arms of another man. That I deserve that shit. And I probably do. I started fucking around with you _before_ I knew this shit, not because of it. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Yeah but that don’t make him right either, baby,” Mack tells me. My stomach does a little flip thing when I hear him call me ‘baby’.

Again I adjust my hat with a huff.

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head a little. “I’ve been wracking my brain all day about shit… Should probably make a doctor’s appointment and get tested. He and I have fucked without a condom in the last six months.”

“You think he’d be dumb enough to catch somethin’?”

“Don’t know, but you can never be too overcautious with that shit, right?…You should probably get tested too, just to be safe. I mean I know we’ve used a condom every time, but you never know with that shit sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Mack and I stare at one another for a moment, and I can see the questions in his eyes. I just told him that the guy I keep running back to is cheating on me, but while I may not confront him about his infidelity, I haven’t yet said how I plan on handling this shit. I haven’t made any promises of leaving Justin either. I think about everything Lee and I discussed. She’s right, I’m scared of this shit. I’m scared of having everything I want.

I really just want Mack to be what I need, when I need it.

But I also need to figure out what _he_ wants.

Finally Mack exhales through his nose and says, “I’m sorry I went off on you like that this mornin’.”

“It’s alright,” I shrug, but he shakes his head.

“No it ain’t,” he says. “I’ve…been doin’ some thinkin’ and…Look, I get it, alright? You’ve been with my brother for how long now? Eight years? That’s a long fuckin’ time. I don’t know people that have stayed _married_ for that long, let alone faithful. I can’t expect you to just walk away from all that. And I can’t expect you to do things how I want just ‘cause that’s what I want. So I ain’t gonna tell you how to live your life.”

He pushes himself off the sink and steps closer, reaching to place his hands on my hips and pull me in as he stares down at me.

“So if you decide you still wanna run back to my brother and try to work shit out, that’s fine. I ain’t gonna stop you. I ain’t gonna tell you what to do…But I could make a suggestion.”

“What’s that?”

He smirks a little. “You said he’s been fuckin’ around on you with this guy for six months now? Well, if my math is right, you’ve still got a ways to go before you’re even with ‘em.”

Holy shit, is he saying what I think he’s saying?

“Wait so you’re suggesting we keep fucking around behind his back? Just to make shit even between us?”

He shrugs a little. “Maybe? Look, all I’m sayin’ is you ain’t gotta feel guilty about that shit anymore. You can do whatever the hell you want. You wanna stay with him? Fine. I can wait as long as it takes. I’m not goin’ anywhere. And if you change your mind, I’m here, whenever you want me. Even if you decide all you want is to fuck around a little every once in a while? I’m fine with that too. I don’t care. I’ll take whatever I can get. Don’t matter to me.”

Wow. Okay.

I wonder what happened? He said he’d been doing some thinking, but what changed his mind between now and this morning to make him backpedal like this?

Was it something I said?

I blink a few times as I process all this. I’ve got mixed feelings here. Like, is this really what Mack wants? He’s fine if we just keep fucking around on occasion, no commitment, no living together or anything like that, just sex? And being friends still of course. But he has no problem with that? Part of me just wants to accept that offer because it takes the pressure off of circumnavigating a relationship with him, but is he really okay with that?

I slowly slip my arms around his waist as I search his face for anything other than calm, high as fuck, and generally indifferent, which is Mack’s usual mood. “But…but that wouldn’t make you jealous?” I ask. He chuckles a little, running his hands up my back, simultaneously pulling me closer until I’m flush against him, chest to chest. His shakes his head as looks down at me, eyes dropping to my mouth like he wants to kiss me.

“I really ain’t got no reason to be jealous,” he tells me, smiling. “I know who you think about when you’re with my brother,” he adds, and I bite my lip a little because now I’m remembering just how he learned that information. The mind-blowing confession of my inner most thoughts about him. Followed by the mind-blowing sex. He leans down and pecks my lips with a kiss, then bites my bottom lip, making me whimper.

“You’re kind of into that shit, aren’t you?” I ask him.

“Maybe,” he says, as his mouth trails from mine, across my jaw, to the spot on my neck just below my ear. “But I don’t really care what you do,” he says right in my ear. “Because I know that he could fuck you over and over, a hundred different ways, but no matter what he does, you ain’t gonna come ‘til you you think about my dick shoved up inside you.” He reaches down and squeezes my ass. “Fuckin’ you hard, just the way you like.”

 _Fuck_.

On the other side of the house I still hear voices with the occasional laughter, the stereo playing in the background, and I know everyone is still talking and carrying on like we’re not in here, five seconds away from fucking each other’s brains out. You know, maybe I’m into this shit too. Us being all secretive about shit, banging in the bathroom while our friends are chilling in the living room, because I am incredibly turned on right now.

Maybe Mack has a point with this idea of his. Maybe we shouldn’t stress over a relationship. I just can’t believe he’s okay with this. He’s either the most selfless person I’ve ever met, to be so understanding of my predicament, or he’s just as fucked up as me. But Mack knows I want to be with him, but he also knows I’ve got problems with this shit, so yeah. Maybe we should just go with the flow. And right now that flow is leading to some impromptu sex.

So you know what? Fuck it. I don’t mind going back to being the villain here, if it means I get to fuck around with Mack. Besides, I think I look pretty good in the costume. Mack still wants me, despite my issues, and that’s all I really care about right this second. So if this is what he wants, then that’s what we’ll do. I’m cool with it. And to prove it to him, I reach up to cradle his face and pull him down for another kiss.

His tongue slips past my teeth and dives to the back of my throat repeatedly in these nice long slow pulls, just the way I like. Then I feel him knock my hat off my head as he kisses me, run his fingers through my hair, and yank my head back. I gasp. “Hmm, let’s see how good you are at bein’ quiet,” he murmurs in my ear before he bites it. Sounds like a challenge. Shit, I don’t really care if I make noise, but I guess we’ll see which one of us breaks first.

He pulls me over to the sink, turns me around, and pins me in place, so now he’s behind me, grinding up against me and…fuck, I can see his face in the mirror. I have a sudden appreciation for mirror sex I didn’t previously. Getting fucked from behind while still being able to see this beautiful man? That’s some A+ shit. I’m little self conscious about my own appearance though. Like, I’ve never seen the face I make during sex before.

My heart is beating frantically in my chest as he lifts my shirt a little, running his fingers over my back, then wrestles me out of it. Then he unbuckles my belt and slides it off. The face he makes is fucking beautiful though. Like he’s looking at the most fascinating thing in the world, that thing being _me_. That’s an ego boost. My pants drop to my ankles, then soon after my boxers slide down to my knees, hands trailing lightly over my skin.

I’m biting my lip hard in order to not let out a moan. I want to see if I can actually be somewhat quiet. I’m not particularly verbal during sex, like not with actual words, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still moan and groan and all that shit. He runs his hands over me, groping my ass, and I see him biting his lip. I’m torn between wanting to let my eyes close, relax and fall into it, and keeping them open to see his reactions.

But then he takes his belt off and hooks it around my neck. My dick jumps at that shit. He slowly pulls back so that I’m almost flat against him. Eyes on mine in the mirror, darting over my face, and he smiles, liking what he sees. He takes and loops the length of the belt through the belt loop and pulls the slack out of it, practically salivating at the sight. He tugs a little on it, my brow furrows and I bite my own lip.

“Damn, you look good like this,” he murmurs. “Oughta buy you a collar, so I can lead you around my house on a leash, like the _bitch_ you are.” _Oh my fucking god yes please!_ Unconsciously I grind my ass against his groin, and I’m so turned on right now I’m fucking throbbing. His smirk widens to the most sinister smile and his eyes narrow. “You like that idea, don’t you, baby?” he asks me, reading my body language, and I nod.

He chuckles a little. Oh and if that fat fucking dick that’s pressed against me is any indicator, he likes that idea too. He lets go of the belt around my neck long enough to fish for his wallet, and whips out a condom, tearing the package open with his teeth. Was he a Boy Scout? Because I swear this fucker is _always_ prepared. He yanks his pants down, slips on the condom, and lines that shit up, then presses in slowly.

With one hand he holds my hip, and the other he tugs on the belt, not enough to choke me completely, but just enough to make me instinctively reach for the belt and pull on it with my fingers, as he fills me up. I don’t know what my face looks like, because I’m too busy watching his, but he looks like he likes what he sees. Then he looks down, and watches himself slide in and out of me, making these breathy, muted sounds of pleasure.

My eyes dart over my face. Fuck, I look like I’m in heaven. Mouth hanging slightly open. Face starting to turn red from the partial lack of oxygen. Slightly pained expression, brows furrowed and eyes glazed over. No wonder he reads me so well. I can’t hide what I am to him. I could never in a million years hide from Mack what he does to me, how he makes me feel. My eyes start to fall shut as he finds the perfect rhythm to fuck me.

I grip the porcelain until my knuckles are white, each thrust bringing me closer and closer. My legs start shaking and my knees threaten to buckle. It’s a struggle to try to come standing up like this. I could ask if we could switch to the floor, but fuck it feels so good from this angle! But I feel Mack gripping me tightly still, and I doubt he’d let me fall, so I relax a little more, letting him support more of my weight.

He fucks me just a little harder, tightening his grip on the belt just a little tighter and I’m starting to fall back into that headspace again. That perfect place, where nothing is wrong, nothing can _ever_ go wrong, and my eyes squeeze shut. Every muscle in my body freezes, straining with the tension that’s been building. He picks up the pace, faster and faster, breath coming out in shallow puffs as he pumps into me, and then I hear:

“Oh fuck, baby, that’s it. Come for me.”

_That voice._

That’s what does it for me. That simple command has everything that’s been steadily building in me come tumbling over, and my grip with both hands is iron as I come hard into the sink. Easiest clean-up ever. He slows to a stop as I’m spewing cum, painting everything white, like a fucking masterpiece. He relaxes the tension in the belt too, and while I could breathe before, suddenly I’m sucking in large gulps of air like I was drowning.

I open my eyes to see Mack’s face. I’ve never seen a man look this hungry before. Every bone in my body starts feeling like rubber and I think if not for Mack holding me up still, I would’ve collapsed. I want him to feel like this. Let’s see if I can make that happen, yeah? “You want more?” he asks me, breathlessly, and I nod vigorously, so he resumes, slowly starting back up, ‘til he’s fucking me at his preferred brutal pace.

Now, instead of intense pleasure, my face scrunches up in actual pain from an overstimulated prostate that I’m only partially thrilled about. Like, for real this shit fucking hurts, and not exactly in a pleasurable way, but…his face. Holy fucking shit the face he’s making! Because he’s totally getting off on my pain right now. He pulls the belt tight again and I wince. His breath quickens at that, and his rhythm becomes erratic.

My eyes lock with his in a silent plea for more, I bite my lip, and that’s what does it for him, makes him slam into me one final time and come, spilling into the condom. “G-goddamn,” he stutters as he throbs inside of me, his own face screwing up in pain because it was so intense. Oh yeah, yeah that is some beautiful shit right there. That fucking face. He takes a minute to finish, hand gripping me so tight I think he might bruise me.

When he finally lets go of me, I melt, slumping forward and resting my head against the refreshingly cold glass of the mirror. I close my eyes. I feel him undo the belt and slide it off my neck. Then he slowly pulls out. There’s a rustling noise behind me and Mack rights himself, then he’s back. Looming over me. Hands on either side of mine where they prop me up over the sink, and he presses light kisses to my back and shoulders.

Finally I let out a moan. Mack snorts behind me. “Well, damn,” he says. “I’m impressed. That’s the first sound you’ve made.”

“Yeah,” I hitch, catching my breath still, “I guess,” I heave another breath, “It was so good I was speechless,” I quip, but only half sarcastic.

“You’re gonna give me an ego,” he says and I snort.

“Like you don’t have one already.”

He chuckles, and so do I, then kisses me again. Slowly I peel myself off the sink, rinse my cum down the drain, and we get ourselves situated properly, pecking each other with kisses on the lips or cheek as we go along. I find my hat on the floor and replace it on my head, flipping it backwards. We both walk out of the bathroom looking like we were run over by a train, and collapse on the fold-out chairs with happy sighs.

Holy fuck my ass is sore and it’s fucking awesome.

Everyone’s been talking still and don’t notice us at first, until Trevor, who’s closest to us, whispers to me, “Hey, are you guys okay?”

“Oh we’re fuckin’ great,” I sigh, and next to me Mack grins that smug fucking grin, kicking back in the seat, stretching his arms up to lace his fingers behind his head.

“Yeah, we’re good, man,” he adds, and Trevor slowly nods.

“Wait a minute!” Lee exclaims suddenly. “You mean to tell me _Lenny_ is Twitch?!” she asks Andy, who nods, and she gasps. “Oh _now_ I get it! Dude, I think I figured out how we never knew we’re semi related!” She laughs. “I always thought you and Twitch were two different people!” I bust out laughing at that. Oh that makes total sense then. “Andy never used your real name or anything!”

“You know I had that same shit happen to me?” Mack chuckles. She raises a brow like she’s saying, “Really?” He nods. “Yeah I’d been tryin’ to figure out who he was for _months_. Surprised the hell outta me.”

Andy leans his head. “Wait so you mean… _Ohhh_ ,” he drawls when it dawns on him. “Shit, my bad guys,” he laughs. “Fuck I thought y’all knew.”

“We blamed it on Smoke,” I say. “Thought maybe he just forgot to tell us about about each other an’ shit.”

“Tell ya ‘bout what?” he asks, sitting up in his recliner where he’s been spacing. “What I forget?”

None of us can answer because we’re too busy laughing.

I glance at Mack and he winks at me.

I smile.

I love this. I love that no one will ever look at me like Mack does. And no one will ever see him like I do. We’re two of kind, me and Mack. Like the Jokers in a deck of cards, maybe no one needs us, nor even gets us, much less do they want us, but we get each other. We’re in sync with that shit. Yeah, life is good right now. Life is _very_ good right now. I think I can be happy with this. And the best part? It’s what Mack wants too. So yeah, life is great.

And when I go home that night after dropping off Mack and Lee, I’m not even stressed walking through the door and seeing Justin sitting next to Sam on the couch. Matter of fact I’m actually happy to see him for a change. Because I know there ain’t shit he can tell me right now that will piss me off. You have to actually care in order to be pissed, and you know what? I don’t fucking care anymore. But I frown, confused, when I see Sam crying.

“Whoa, what happened?” I ask, like I’m actually concerned.

“Lee broke up with her,” Justin tells me, and I lift a brow.

“Did she say why?”

“No. She just said she was done. Broke up with her in a text. Can you believe that? Like, she didn’t even have the common decency to do it in person!”

Sam sniffs, then blows her nose with the tissue Justin gave her, mascara running down her face. “She told me ‘Fuck you, I’m done with your ass, and you can go choke on a dick’!” she sobs. I can’t help it, I bust out laughing hysterically at that shit, doubling over and clutching my knees. Fuck yeah! Way to go, Lee! That’s my girl! She fucking told that bitch! Justin eyes me like I’m the devil incarnate though, because I’m laughing.

“She said choke on a dick! Bahaha!”

“Lenny!” he barks, scolding me, but I don’t care about that either. “Why are you laughing?! It’s not funny!”

“What? She’s bi, so it’s not like it’s an insult,” I shrug and walk away.

“Fuck you, you asshole!” Sam screeches at me.

“Right back at ya, bitch!” I sing, all cheerily and shit, on my way to the bathroom.

Yeah, life is good.

Very, _very_ good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	24. Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I steamroll Justin’s ass in therapy the following week._
> 
> _And I bet you’re all wondering how the fuck that happened, right?_
> 
> _Well, sit your ass down, have a smoke, and I’ll tell you all about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Whatever"–Godsmack](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=ceGuYDGwPfM&feature=share)

I steamroll Justin’s ass in therapy the following week.

And I bet you’re all wondering how the fuck that happened, right?

Well, sit your ass down, have a smoke, and I’ll tell you all about it.

See it starts out just like every other Wednesday, both of us just going through the typical routine. Get up, get dressed, prepare to drive to couples’ counseling. Neither of us are talking to one another as I park the car, we enter the building, wait in the little reception area, then step inside Miss Michelle’s office. We both sit down, and I prepare myself to zone the fuck out while Justin derails me for an hour, right?

So there I am, mentally spacing, thinking about shit. I’ve got a million things on my mind. Went to a clinic and got tested for STDs, and thank whatever god exists that shit came back negative. Which means either Justin was careful, or Justin got lucky. I’m also thinking about my new ‘arrangement’ with Mack. But at no point am I thinking I will get to talk this week. I’m just preparing myself to mentally blow my brains out repeatedly.

Yeah, not what happens, actually.

Not this week.

“So, how are we doing this week?” Michelle asks us, and I think to myself, _here we go again._

Justin, with a frown, folds his arms across his chest and says, “We’re regressing again.” Before Michelle gets a chance to comment, he elaborates with, “So there’s this concert we’d been planning to go to for weeks, and at the very last minute _somebody_ changed their mind about going.” He shoots me a glare. “He said he didn’t really like the band anyway, and thought maybe I could use my space, so he suggested we go without him.

Said I shouldn’t have to always do everything with him, if I didn’t want to, which was a fucking lie! He just wanted to get out of going to the concert so he could stay out and get drunk and high all weekend!” I roll my eyes, but I don’t say a word. “See? Look at him! He’s not even trying to deny it! Because he knows it’s true! All he cares about is drugs and alcohol, and he never thinks of anyone but himself! Or even thinks about the consequences!”

I call bullshit.

Miss Michelle holds up a hand. “Just-just hold on a sec,” she says. “Lenny, do you have anything to say for yourself about that?” Well, shit, she wants to hear what I have to say? Oh I have _lots_ to say regarding this subject. I open my mouth, but Justin goes to cut me off again, and then something crazy happens. Michelle keeps her hand up and says, “Ah, Justin? I think we’re going to let Lenny talk this session, okay?”

Justin closes his mouth, then fidgets. My eyebrows shoot up. Like, for real? I get to talk for a change? How often does that happen?

I adjust the hat on my head, sit forward in my seat and rest my elbows on my knees, then take a deep breath.

“Justin’s not wrong, I did say-”

“See? I told you! He’s-”

“Justin, let him finish. Remember, this is Lenny’s turn to talk now. And Justin’s turn to _listen_.” Oh she’s talking to him like he’s five! This fucker is getting a taste of his own medicine for a change! This is fucking great. I pinch my lips together to keep from smiling, much less laughing at that shit. She gestures for me to proceed, so I continue.

“As I was saying, yes, I did tell Justin I didn’t want to go to the concert, and the only reason I agreed to go in the first place is because that’s what Justin wanted to do.” Out of the corner of my eye I see Justin rolling his. “Sometimes you do that in a relationship, right? You compromise. You do things you may not necessarily want to do to make the other person happy. But I mean,” I sigh, “I fucking _hate_ Paramore. It fucking sucks.”

Michelle makes this tiny, barely audible snort.

“But I agreed because Justin wanted to go, and then I thought to myself, well shit, that ain’t fair is it? I mean, how would Justin feel if I took him to a death metal concert?” I chuckle. “He would fucking hate it. I wouldn’t make him do that, you know? And I _did_ mean what I said about us having our space. I mean, I don’t want to control Justin. We should both be allowed to go out with our friends without each other every once in a while.

But…I told Justin I went to a barbecue on Saturday, and yes I played some beer pong while I was there, and yes I spent the night because I don’t drink and drive. And somehow he got the idea that I was gone all fucking weekend getting trashed.” I quickly shoot Justin a glare of my own. “Yes, I smoke marijuana on occasion, and yes I drink every once in a while. I won’t lie about that shit, I have no reason to lie, because I have nothing to hide.”

(Shut up. Don’t even say it. Just shut the fuck up. I’m on a roll here.)

“But you don’t feel like your behavior is harmful in any way?” Michelle asks me, neutrally. Beside me Justin gets this gleam like he thinks he’s won. I shrug a little.

“I can see where it has the potential to be harmful,” I admit. “Drugs and alcohol ruin lives every day. That’s a fucking _fact_. How many times do you watch on the news where some idiot got behind the wheel of his car fucking trashed, drove drunk, and fucking _killed_ people? Right? Like, I _know_ the consequences of my actions if I’m not careful. But Justin makes me out to be some sort of junkie, and let me tell you right now, that’s fucking bullshit.”

(Can I take a moment here to say mad props to Michelle for not giving a fuck about my cursing? Like, she just let’s me go. Because she knows I need to vent.)

“I would never, _ever_ , under any circumstances, stick a needle in my arm, okay? But yes, I smoke every now and then. I know it’s not legal here, but it is in other states. Marijuana has been proven to have a lot of medical benefits. But I don’t ever keep that shit in the house, and I certainly don’t do it around Justin. I respect that he doesn’t like that shit.” I shrug a little. “It keeps me calm. And it’s like the _only_ thing that makes my leg stop twitching.”

“May I ask, what causes that, exactly?” she asks me.

“My leg?”

She nods. “Anxiety, maybe?”

I scratch my head. “I’m not sure exactly. I mean it’s not like it’s a nervous habit, and medically I’m fine, but according to my anger management counselor it could most likely be some sort of,” I glance at the ceiling, trying to remember the word he used, “Residual effect of emotional repression. Something like that. Basically, since I don’t act on my aggressive urges, unconsciously my body finds other ways of releasing that tension.”

“Ah,” she nods. “But you do have anger issues?”

“Yes,” I nod, definitively. “Yes, I do. I was diagnosed with something sort of, kind of like PTSD when I was sixteen, and basically my fight or flight reflexes don’t behave normally like other human beings.” Meanwhile, as I’m talking about this, Justin has this weird expression on his face. Like, we’ve talked in small (Very small) increments about my anger issues, but I’ve kept a lot of this shit to myself over the years. So he’s half surprised hearing about this.

Or maybe he’s just surprised I’m talking so nonchalantly about this.

“Okay, so let’s get back to the drug usage,” she says, and I nod.

“Yes, as I was saying, I understand why Justin has a fear of me becoming an addict. I mean, ever since he found out his mom had a history of drug usage-”

“This has _nothing_ to do with my mother!” he snaps, and I take a deep breath. I’m not twitching or anything, not even pissed, because I just don’t care anymore, but I hate hearing Justin flat out lie.

“This has _everything_ to do with your mom,” I correct. “He found out his mom used to snort coke, and that was actually how she met his dad. They were doing drugs, had a threesome with some chick she dated, and that was also how she ended up pregnant with him.” Justin palms his face, completely mortified. I snort. “She was a drug addict, _and_ a hypocrite. And my parents? Holy fuck don’t get me started on my parents.”

“They were drug addicts?”

“Yup. Both of them. Man, fucking drugs was what killed them.”

“They overdosed?”

“I fucking wish,” I sigh. “Worse. Like, my dad was trying to get money for crack, knocked over a liquor store. Shot the clerk at point blank range. Killed him. Mom was the getaway driver. They ended up in a car chase out on the interstate. Police set up a road block, so they veered into oncoming traffic trying to avoid it and caused an accident. Mom died instantly. Dad was life-flighted, but he didn’t make it. Like four or five other people died that day too.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says, and I shrug.

Beside me Justin is shocked. His head popped up while I was talking, and he’s been staring at me. He’s never heard me talk about my parents before. Or maybe, once again he’s surprised at how nonchalant my tone of voice is about this? But ever since I opened up to Mack about that shit, like, I’ve been dealing with it. I mean, yeah, it’s fucked up, but saying it out loud doesn’t change what happened, so…yeah, I guess I’m okay with talking about it now.

“I was like two when it happened,” I say. “And I was already living with my grandma because my mom lost custody of me. But the part that always hurt the me most was just how they didn’t even _try_ to fight for me, you know? Didn’t even try to get clean and shit. They just left me there, and they never came back. Because getting their fix mattered more to them than their own fucking kid. That’s what hard drugs do to you. And that’s why I stay away from them.”

Michelle contemplates all that. “It’s a very genuine concern to have. It also sounds like you have a fear that drugs will make you turn out like your own father did.”

“Oh yeah,” I chuckle. “You’re right on the money there. Like, I am _deathly_ afraid of becoming my father. My father was a _murderer_.”

She nods a little. “But you don’t see where your current behavior might eventually lead to that? They call marijuana a gateway drug because it can sometimes lead to other forms of drug usage.”

I shrug at that. “True, it can sometimes lead to that, if you have an addictive personality or are genetically prone to addictive behavior, but statistically that rarely happens. And me, I’ve been smoking since I was like seventeen and I’ve never been dumb enough to try other shit. Weed works just fine. And I could understand if my behavior had an impact on us financially, but it doesn’t. I don’t buy it, and I think I’ve only bought like _one_ case of beer in

the last six months. I just can’t afford to do that shit. I make ten dollars an hour at the restaurant I work at, and usually average anywhere from 30 to 35 hours a week, so minus 22% for state and federal withholding, my net income on average is only like a thousand dollars a month. Justin only makes eight bucks an hour where he’s at, and _says_ he’s getting screwed on his taxes,” I shoot him a glance, “So even working double shifts, a forty hour week doesn’t pay

Much more than my job. And with our rent and utilities, plus personal expenses, we’re lucky to have any kind of money left over to get us week to week. Then there’s the car payment and car insurance on my Pontiac, gas to get us both to and from work because we share a vehicle. I honestly think my biggest hang-up here is how much I spend on _cigarettes_. But I’m sorry no, I just can’t afford to fucking party all the time. I’ve got bills to pay.”

“That is…a very mature way of looking at the situation,” Michelle comments.

“Oh so you expect me to believe you _don’t_ spend money on drugs?” Justin huffs. “That’s a lie. Why are we always broke then?”

“Dude you spend like half our money on fucking health food,” I point out. “That’s why we’re broke. Because you want to spend twenty dollars on something that we could get for like _two_. Instead of just making better dietary choices, you want to spend more money on something just because it says organic on the label.” Justin rolls his eyes at me, like what I’m saying is ridiculous, but, “Hey, it’s the truth. That’s why you don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh don’t _even_ give me that!-”

“Justin,” Michelle interrupts. “We’re letting Lenny talk, and _listening_ , remember? You might not like what he has to say, but remember, you’ve had every opportunity to share your thoughts, and now it’s someone else’s turn.”

Justin sighs, then nods understandingly. But he’s fucking pissed. It’s hilarious. Like, it is so hard to keep a straight face right now. But I digress.

“Look, finances aside, I _get_ why Justin is concerned about my behavior,” I say. “I mean it makes sense to worry about your boyfriend being a drug addict. I get that. I really do. But obviously we have some trust issues here, if Justin can’t count on me to make good choices and mature decisions about shit, right?” I side-eye him. “I mean, fuck. I trusted him to go to a concert and for all I know he could’ve hooked up with some other guy while he was there.”

Justin pales for a moment. Yeah, I’ve got him right where I want him now.

“But I _trust_ him.”

(Lie. No I don’t. But the brief look of discomfort on his face is so worth the obvious lie.)

“You know, Lenny makes a very good point,” Michelle says. “Trust is very important in a relationship. Granted, maybe some of what Lenny does might not necessarily be healthy for him, but you do have to trust him, and just encourage him to do the right thing if you can, maybe lead by example. And maybe the two of you sitting down and discussing your finances and planning your spending together before making any decisions.”

That won’t happen.

But Justin nods a little, and brushes his hair out of his eyes, demurely, like he has no problem here, but he totally does. I can tell.

“So, Lenny,” Michelle flips through her notes from a previous session, “Let’s talk for a moment about your passive-aggressive behavior towards Justin.”

I lean back in my seat and lace my fingers behind my head. “Okay. Shoot.”

“Now you mentioned that you do have some issues dealing with anger, and Justin has previously mentioned several instances where you’ve physically lashed out, and he feels like he’s being attacked. And there are a lot of instances where he feels like he’s being ignored, where you’re not being attentive to his emotional needs. Is there anything you’d like to say in regards to that?”

“Well it’s not like I’ve ever put my hands on him. Like, _ever_.”

“Being physically violent towards someone, and attacking them emotionally are two different things, Lenny.”

And Justin’s back to being smug again.

I shrug. “I get that,” I say. “I just…I don’t handle confrontation very well. Like I said, I have a disorder that keeps me from reacting normally to very intense emotional situations, and it’s…it’s difficult. My switch only flips one way. When people push my buttons, I lash out. Sometimes I can’t control that shit. And a lot of times it’s easier if I don’t react at all, know what I mean? Like, don’t speak or anything, don’t do anything at all.

Because I know if I open my mouth, I’m gonna go off, and I know that whatever I say to Justin will piss him off. It’s easier to just walk away from the situation until I’m calm. That’s what my counselor taught me to do. Go, take five minutes to calm down, and come back when I’m ready to discuss it. But Justin won’t let me do that. Like, he fucking follows me. He never gives me my space when I need it, and he never lets me calm down.”

“Walking away from a situation _is_ a mature way to deal with emotional outbursts,” she remarks with a nod. “So you were taking anger management classes?” I nod. “And how did that come about?”

“I was locked up in a juvenile detention center, when I was fourteen,” I explain. “I wired a guy’s jaw shut, so they sentenced me to two years, and the anger management counseling was a stipulation of my release.”

“And what was the fight about?”

“I’m not comfortable with discussing that right now.”

There’s a pause, before Michelle slowly nods, then moves on. “So were you prescribed any medication?”

“Generic for Zoloft,” I answer. “I stopped taking it. Didn’t like how it made me feel. But it was all my grandma could afford. It was supposed to inhibit the way I react to situations but all it did was make me not care. About anything at all. I was like a zombie and shit, drooling on the couch. My grades started dropping and I started failing my classes, so I stopped taking it. Then boom,” I snap my fingers, “Just like that I was fine again.”

“And so now you self medicate with marijuana.”

“On occasion yes. I mean it doesn’t really do anything to stop me from being emotional, just you know, the typical high you get from smoking it, but it helps the anxiety associated with my disorder. Stops me from twitching. And it makes me far less likely to end up in a physical altercation with someone, unless I’m provoked. I’m just afraid that one of these days, Justin is going to push me far enough that I react and instead of breaking a plate, I break his face.”

Throughout all of this discussion, Justin looks super uncomfortable, and is bunched up with his arms folded, staring at the opposite wall in front of him. I don’t really know how to fix that honestly. Like, I literally just said I don’t want to hurt him, and I really don’t like the idea of him being scared of me? But maybe what I’m saying right now will make Justin think twice about pushing my buttons.

“So yeah, it’s easier if I just let everything he says go in one ear and out the other sometimes,” I add. “Like, I really don’t like the idea of being violent, so I just…I don’t know, I ignore that shit. But he just goes on and on and on sometimes and he never lets up, and if I’m not saying or doing exactly what he wants me to, I’m wrong. It’s like I’m not allowed to have my own opinion, about anything. And he’s like that with _everybody_.”

Justin takes a breath, opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but then he closes it, like he just remembered what Michelle said a minute ago. He doesn’t have to agree with me, he just has to listen. That’s all. Michelle nods at all this, then skims through her notes. “Okay, let’s touch upon your problems with intimacy. Justin mentioned you’ve been experiencing some issues in that department as well?”

“What, the sex?” I ask, and she nods. “Oh he’s right, it’s _so_ fucking boring,” I groan, shaking my head. For a second, Justin looks offended, like how dare I say sex with him is boring when _he’s_ the one that pointed it out. Fucking get real. “Like, it’s been the same shit for eight fucking years now, and it’s never any different. Like he never offers to change things up. It’s just the same shit.”

Finally, Justin can’t keep his thoughts to himself anymore, and blurts out, “Oh so now it’s _my_ fault the sex is boring? You fucking liar! That is ridiculous! You don’t even-”

“Justin,” Michelle reprimands, and he falls silent, scowling.

“Look I’m not saying it’s your fault.” (It totally is.) “I’m just saying that we always do what you want, but if it’s not good enough then fucking _tell_ me this shit. Like, how am I supposed to know what I’m doing wrong if you don’t fucking tell me, Justin. If you want to do something different, all you have to do is say so. Like, what do you want, exactly? Or is it just not _me_ you want anymore?” He glares at me when I say that.

“I just wanted you to be more romantic!” he snaps. “Maybe make me feel like you actually _care_ about me for a change!”

“I do care,” I remind him. “Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. But if you wanted me to be romantic and shit, why didn’t you just say so?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you, Lenny,” he huffs. “You should _want_ to do those things for me!”

“So now you’re telling me what I should and shouldn’t want?” I sigh and shake my head at that. “Dude, I don’t fucking know how to be romantic,” I groan. “I fucking suck at that shit. What, you want flowers and shit? You want me to treat you like a chick? That what you want? Fine. I’ll buy you fucking flowers and shit. But again, might I ask, _why_ the fuck can’t you just tell me this shit, Justin?”

“I shouldn’t have to!” he growls.

Michelle ‘ahems’, to get his attention. “Lenny is right, Justin. Communication is a two way street. Lenny can’t be expected to always know what you need when you need it. You have to communicate. Obviously Lenny isn’t much of a romantic, but he’s…” She glances at me, “Willing to try to be?” I shrug. “And maybe the two of you can compromise. You can also try something Lenny might like to do as well. And _both_ of you try new things _together_.”

Yeah I don’t really see that happening either? But sure, whatever, I’m game.

“I would be fine with that,” Justin chirps immediately, but I know it’s only because he’s grasping at straws to still be the better person here. I just kind of nod absently.

“It sounds to me like Lenny has gotten very used to only hearing criticism,” Michelle points out. “Without any kind positive reinforcement. And sometimes this only works to _discourage_ a person from trying to improve the relationship, rather than the opposite. Lenny probably feels like he’ll only fail to please you if he tries to change anything about his behavior. You need to try your approach with a little _constructive_ criticism, Justin.

Maybe try to make Lenny understand that you only harp on his behavior because you care about him, and want him to be happy. Not just because he’s doing something you don’t like, or something you personally feel is wrong.” He sighs in frustration and throws his hands up at that.

“I do!” he swears. “Like that’s _literally_ what I’m trying to do right now! And he acts like I’m _attacking_ him!”

“Let me ask you something?” I pipe up. “If all you do is because you care about me? Then why do you criticize the way I dress? Huh? Or the kind of music I like?”

“Because you dress like a slob and listen to the type of music that just  _promotes_ aggressive behavior!” he snaps. “And don’t even lie the _only_ reason you listen to that shit is so people won’t think you’re gay!”

“For real? You think my obsession with Slipknot is like some homophobic shit?”

“Let’s touch on that really quick,” Michelle interjects, before Justin can respond. “Justin mentioned last session you’ve been experiencing some internalized homophobia.”

“Oh my fucking god,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “I’m _not_ homophobic! I seriously don’t care what other people do, and I care even less about how I look to people! I don’t sit here and analyze my behavior and worry if it makes people think I’m gay! Newsflash: _I’m gay_! I prefer the company of other men! Whether I listen to Adelle and fucking cry at the end of the movie doesn’t change that! I like what I like because that’s what I like, and that’s it!”

“Oh really?” Justin chirps. “Then why are you afraid of coming out?”

“Because we live in a punk ass town full of rednecks an’ shit that’ll fucking slash my tires!” I say. “People will treat us differently Justin! That’s just a fact! I mean fuck, your mom won’t talk to us because you told her you’re gay! I don’t care what people think of me, but I don’t want to be treated differently because of this shit! No one does! Because it fucking sucks! And it shouldn’t be anybody’s _business_ who I’m fucking, unless the shit’s illegal!”

“Why am I just now hearing any of this?”

“Because you never shut the fuck up and let me talk!”

It gets quiet for a minute. Like, yeah I just called Justin out on all his bullshit, and he’s got nothing to say. But it’s not over yet. He’s bound and determined to make me look bad somehow. So quietly he asks, “Then why won’t you tell your friends?”

“I _did_.” Justin rears back in disbelief. “I told Smoke and Andy. I did it, okay? I told them. But I shouldn’t have to, because it’s _none_ of their goddamned business!”

“You told them?” I nod. “Fine, then if you _really_ don’t care, why won’t you change your relationship status on Facebook, huh? Why not just tell _everybody_ then, that you and I are together?”

Goddamn it.

Michelle sucks in a breath. “Would you be willing to do that, Lenny?” she asks me.

I think about it.

_Fuck! Goddamn fucking shit he’s fucking right! Fuck!_

I scowl, folding my arms. “No,” I finally mumble. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“What about maybe just changing your status to ‘in a relationship’? Without specifying?”

I clench my jaw. “No.”

Beside me Justin sighs.

Then he gives me the ‘I told you so’ look.

And whaddya know, we’re right the fuck back to Justin being a self righteous son of a bitch who thinks he’s better than everybody else and can do no wrong.

Fucking Linda Evans 2.0.

Oh what the fuck ever. So I’m afraid of people knowing I’m gay. Fuck this shit. I fall silent. I don’t want to talk anymore, so the next question Michelle asks me, I just shake my head. I’m done. For real, I’m fucking done. She spends the rest of the hour we paid for coming up with ways to solve our communication problems, suggesting for now we maybe talk via text messages until we’re comfortable talking out loud again.

She gives me the standard lecture on dealing with my anger that my counselor gave me, but she knows it’s more or less a formality at this point, because it’s nothing I haven’t heard before and nothing I don’t already try to do. But then she lectures Justin too, explains to him like he’s five how to deal with someone like me that has my kind of issues. That is fucking hilarious. But I know Justin won’t listen. Because then there would be nothing to complain about.

Eventually she ends the conversation with, “Communication and compromise are key to a successful relationship, and if we can’t find a solution you’re both happy with, there’s no fixing this.”

Which is code for, “Either get your shit together, or fucking break up already!”

When we finally leave, I know nothing will change between me and Justin. Like, not a damned thing. Wanna know how I know? I know that the second we’re in the car and Justin says, “Can you drop me off at Sam’s? I need my _space_ right now, so...” Yeah, whatever. Space. He’s either going to bitch to Sam about me, or go fuck Mark. Like nothing has changed at all. And I’ll tell you why. It’s the simplest answer to all of our problems. Every single fucking one of them.

I will never be good enough, because _I’m not Mark_ , and I _never will be_.

But whatever.

I’ve got Mack.

I’ll be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	25. Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Just between us, I’d say it’s about damned time you got a little payback for that shit. Whatchya think?”_
> 
> _I bite my lip a little. “Payback?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["The Devil In I"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Ub_NI1lCrdA&feature=share)

I overslept. Like, I forgot Justin has to work today? And since I work the closing shift tonight, I just turned my alarms off and slept in. So there I am on the couch, face smashed into the pillow fucking drooling on that shit when I’m jolted violently awake by Justin shaking my shoulder. “Lenny! Lenny! Wake up! I’m going to be late for work!” Oh fuck this shit. I seriously don’t want to deal with him right now.

I groan, then roll over, rubbing my eyes and reaching for my car keys on the coffee table, then plop them in his hand. Like, fuck it, just take my car. I don’t feel like driving right now. I’m half asleep. With a sigh and an eye-roll, Justin takes my keys, then he’s gone and the apartment is quiet once more. I roll back over and fall back to sleep. But evidently life has other plans for me today.

It feels like I only just closed my eyes when I’m jolted awake by something else. This time it’s my phone ringing. It’s a clip from a Soundgarden song, so I know it’s Mack calling me. I haphazardly reach for my phone, almost dropping it, checking the time. 11:45. Okay, so it’s not _nearly_ as early as I though it was. I muffle a yawn before I answer, my voice kind of gravelly when I sleepily mumble, “Hello?”

“Hey baby,” that sexy voice rumbles in my ear and I groan as I’m stretching on the couch.

If I could just record his voice and listen to that shit on repeat, thank you. (Partially the reason why his ring is now Soundgarden.)

“Hey,” I say, grinning from ear to ear.

“Just talked to my brother,” he tells me. “Asked him what he’s gettin’ into.” He chuckles a little. “Told me he’s at work right now, but you’re still home if I wanted to come hang out.” I snort at that. I get why Mack thinks it’s funny. Justin basically gave him permission to come pick me up, take me home, and fuck my brains out. Doesn’t even know it. That’s hilarious. “So what are you doin’?”

“Nothin’,” I mumble. “Just woke up actually.”

“Alright, well stay there. Don’t make any plans. I’m on my way.”

“Alright.”

I close my eyes after we hang up, and let the phone drop to my chest. I doze off for about five more minutes, thinking I have plenty of time to get ready because it takes Mack a while to get here from his place. But by the time I’m up and just get out of the bathroom, I hear a knock on my door. Like, shit, he’s already here? I’m in nothing but a pair of boxers still. Hope he doesn’t mind waiting.

I open the door and let him in. He looks good. Has on a black button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks me up and down with a smirk, obviously likes seeing me sans clothing, then pulls me in for a kiss, wrapping one arm around me. He reaches behind him and I hear a click. Did he just lock the deadbolt? I hum a little as I pull away. Man he feels so good. “Just give me a few and I’ll be ready to go.”

He snorts. “Don’t bother. I’ve got other plans.”

Other plans?

He pulls me back in, pecking my lips a few times before the kiss deepens, then lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his frame. He starts to carry me to the bedroom, and I think to myself, well, shit, we’re doing this here? In mine and Justin’s apartment? In our bed? For some reason signals fire off in my brain telling me this is wrong. Not like anything about this arrangement is morally sound, but just…it’s not how it should be, know what I mean?

Okay so we fucked in Smoke’s bathroom, but aside from that, every time we’ve hooked up, it was always at Mack’s place. I was okay with that, because it meant that at no point in time did my life with Justin and my affair with Mack ever intersect, right? But…never here. Not in the very same bed Justin rolls out of every morning. And something about that makes the hair raise on the back of my neck.

I know it’s stupid to treat our bed like it’s sacred when obviously nothing in this relationship is sacred anymore, but…I don’t know. It’s like I’m crossing some invisible line that keeps me from being a _complete_ dick about shit, and I’m not sure this is a good idea. But Mack takes me to the bedroom and lays me down on the bed, kissing and touching me everywhere. I groan when his hand slides down and palms my dick through my underwear.

All the blood is rushing to my dick and I’m starting to lose the concept of things like thoughts or words. “Mack, wait,” I say, before it slips my mind.

He pops his head up. “What?”

“What are you doin’?”

“What’s it look like I’m doin’? I’m about to fuck your brains out. Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…are you sure we should be doing this here?” I ask. “Like, in mine and Justin’s bed? I mean, that’s kind of fucked up, ain’t it?”

He huffs at me, rolling his eyes a little. “Let me ask you somethin’. How often you reckon he did the same shit, brought his ‘friend’ over and fucked him right here, in your bed, right under your nose, while you were workin’?” I blink a few times as I think about that. I never even considered it actually. It’s possible, but I just assumed Justin had more finesse than that. Not like I ever smelled some strange cologne on my pillow.

But you know, he _is_ kind of anal about changing the sheets every single day…Huh. Maybe that’s why.

Goddamn it.

That motherfucker has been fucking this guy in my fucking bed!

Fuck!

“And let me ask you somethin’ else. How many others you think there might’ve been?” Mack then says to me. “’Cause you know he probably ain’t the only one. He’s just the only one you know about. So I’ll tell you just how many fucks I give about ‘offendin’ my brother. And that would be _none_.” He smiles devilishly. “Just between us, I’d say it’s about damned time you got a little payback for that shit. Whatchya think?”

I bite my lip a little. “Payback?”

“Yep,” he nods. “So I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna fuck you right here, right in his bed while he’s workin’, without an ounce of remorse, and the next time I see him, I’m gonna smile, look him right in the eye, and say, ‘Hey, little man, how’ve you been?’ Without a single regret.”

I chuckle a little. “That’s kinda cold.”

He just grins and waggles his brows at me, and I can’t help but laugh at that.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve earned more than just the right to do what I want, and not feel guilty about it. Maybe I _should_ be a little vindictive here. So fuck it. We’re doing this shit then. He sits up and starts unbuttoning his shirt, so I lace my fingers behind my head to watch him strip it off. The undershirt is next, up over his head it goes, then to the floor. That is fucking sexy right there.

He stares down at me for a moment, then gets this look in his eyes like he just got an idea. “Won’t you roll over,” he says, and I smirk, overly intrigued by this.

“Okay,” I nod, then roll over and lay on my stomach. I grab one of the pillows and bunch it up under my head, getting comfortable.

“You got lube?” he asks, and I nod, pointing at the nightstand on my side of the bed.

“Top drawer.”

I feel him crawl across the bed to shuffle through the drawer. But he doesn’t use it right away, just sets it on the bed. I’m way too curious now. I feel him lay down beside me, kind of half on top of me, with one leg draped over the back of my thigh, propping himself up with one arm. Then he strokes my back. “Got to thinkin’ about somethin’,” he murmurs. My response is a ‘hmm’. “Thinkin’ about somethin’ you told me. ‘Bout how you’ve thought

About me for years. Even while you’re fuckin’ my brother.” He leans in and teases me with his lips brushing my skin, right between my shoulder blades. “All those fantasies you’ve had about me fuckin’ you, so you could get off.” His hand drifts down to my lower back, then to my ass. He squeezes it. He sucks in a breath between his teeth, then lets it out with a groan. “Won’t you describe it to me, baby.”

“Describe it?” I repeat.

“M’hmm,” he hums. “You know, how it all plays out. Tell me what you picture in your mind.”

Believe it or not, I’m actually blushing right now, and I bury my face in the pillow to hide it. He wants me to describe my fantasies in detail? All the shit I picture while I’m fucking Justin, or jerk off to in the shower every now and then? The thoughts about him that filtered through my head for years whenever I’d see him, and hadn’t a single clue that he might’ve been thinking the same things about me?

“I think I can do that,” I mumble. But what I don’t count on is Mack’s plan to continue teasing me throughout the dialogue. “I mean, most of the time it’s you behind me and you’re–” I pause when I feel him slowly pull down my boxers.

“Keep goin’,” he tells me, and I swallow.

“You’re…you’re fucking me hard,” He skims the palm of his hand over my bare ass, “Yanking on my hair, and,” He slides his middle finger down between the cheeks, “And-and saying dirty shit in my ear.” Holy fuck this is actually turning me on! Describing sex with Mack, _as_ I’m about to have sex with Mack. Freaky, but still hot. “And you’re _not_ gentle with shit, like, at all. But you’re still kinda nice too, like, asking me if I’m okay, if it’s not too rough.”

I hear him chuckle. “You like that I’m still a gentleman about it, huh?” he asks, and I nod. He takes his hand away and shifts around. I hear the distinct sound of the cap on the bottle of lube being popped open. My heart speeds up. “Tell me more.”

I shiver a little when I feel a few cold drops of liquid land right on my hole, but I continue. “Sometimes you…you…” Oh now he’s sliding his middle finger right over it again. “You choke me a little while you’re–Oh Jesus fuck!” Yeah, he slid right in and immediately found my prostate just now. My voice adopts a bit of a whine as he fingers me and I say, “And sometimes you’re biting my–fuck!–my shoulder.”

“Yeah I always got this feelin’ you liked it rough,” he comments as his finger swirls around inside, and my toes curl. I’m gripping the pillow tight now.

“Ev-evidently you do t-too,” I stammer. Then groan, “Holy fuck!”

He cracks up and starts snickering at me trying to form a complete sentence while he’s fingering me. “What’s the matter, baby? Findin’ it kinda hard to talk?”

“Fuck, ya think?” I say, then bite the pillow. “Mrph, y-you’re a f-fucking dick, Mack.”

Again he laughs. “Yeah, but you love it, don’t you,” he says. Why yes, yes I do. But then he pulls out, and I hear him fiddle with the bottle again. “Keep talkin’ baby,” he tells me. “Tell me about these dreams you have about me.”

I think about it for a second, recalling to mind all the blurry sex fueled dreams of him. “I don’t know they’re kinda hazy some–” He slides in two fingers now, “–times! Goddamn! They’re…fuck, they’re mostly sex, but sometimes it’s just–oh fuck!–just us talking and shit!” He picks up the pace, fucking me just a little faster, and pretty soon I’m rolling my hips with every thrust. “But–yeah–they’re–they’re mostly sex–oh fuck. Right there.”

I’m shaking now and I’m hard as a rock. If he keeps going, I might come like this.

“Where you’re choking me out, whipping me with a belt, or… _oh fuck, baby_ …you tie me up and just go to town. Like-like fuck me so hard I feel like I’m dying… _oh god that feels so good._ ”

“You know I kinda like the idea of tyin’ you up,” he remarks, thoughtfully, and meanwhile I _do_ feel like I’m dying because throughout the conversation he alternates between sliding in and out and then keeping his fingers deep inside, right on my prostate, and I start to lose the ability to form words. But after–and only after–he’s reduced me to a pile of incoherent mush on the bed, does he let up, but then starts all over with three fingers.

I wince a little, squeezing the pillow tight, as he stretches me, then starts fucking me with his hand, curling his fingers when he reaches inside, all the while biting and nibbling my skin in all the most sensitive spots. My whole body trembles. Pretty soon he’s got me whining and begging for it. Like, my mind is so out of whack right now that I don’t even know _what_ I’m begging for, but goddammit, I _need_ it.

“Oh fuck, Mack, please, baby, please!”

“Please what?” he asks innocently, like he hasn’t a clue what I’m asking, all the while continuing his assault. “Whatchya need, baby? Huh? Tell me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” I moan.

“Yeah, yeah I imagine that’s what you want,” he laughs. “You wanna fuck. Gotta be more specific, baby.”

“ _Please fuck me_.”

“How? Tell me how you want me. Tell me what you need. Describe it for me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” I curse again, feeling like I’m seconds away from coming, heart pounding, every nerve on edge, every sense on fire, and I’m tense as fuck. I grip the blanket beneath me ‘til my knuckles are white. “Fuck me from behind. Choke me, slap me, pull my hair, call me a bitch, I don’t care what you do. Just–oh Jesus–God!–Oh fuck!–Goddamn fucking shit! Fuck me like you hate me!”

“You got it, baby.”

He finally lets up, making me whine and smash my face into the pillow, because I was literally _this close_ to getting off. He scoots away from me, sitting back on his calves, then catches me completely off guard when–in one fell swoop–snatches me around the throat and by the back of my head and yanks me up against him. Now my heart is pounding for a different reason, as instinct kicks in and I reach for the hand around my neck.

He grips me tighter and I wince, absently trying to pry his fingers off. Not that I actually want them gone, but my body is acting like it does, and I can’t control it. Instinctively I war against him, and behind me he snorts, because it’s futile. He leans down, right in my ear and says, “Say the word, baby.” Nope. Not doing it. Instead I growl and pull harder on his hand, struggling in his vice grip. “Go on. Let me hear you say it. Say ‘raven’.”

I chuckle, to the best of my ability, considering how constricted I am.

“ _Make me_.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh, that low, breathy chuckle, right in my ear.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he quips.

He kisses my jaw before he slams me down, hard enough to make me bounce a little on the bed. Then he gives my ass a sharp, resounding smack. Oh that felt good. I wait patiently for him to reach in his pocket and pull out a condom, tear open the package, then slip it on after he’s pulled his pants down. Per our usual proclivities, he doesn’t stand on ceremony with the shit, just snatches me up and shoves it in.

Then he leans over me, assuming our previous position, snatching the back of my head with one hand, while the other snakes around my throat. He wrenches my head sideways as he squeezes me tight, establishing his dominance, pushing in deep and just staying there for a second as he chuckles and says, “You’re not gonna say it, are you?…No you’re gonna take that shit like a good little bitch. Ain’t you, baby?”

Be still my beating fucking heart.

I fucking _love_ this man.

I can’t help but grin like an idiot because yes, yes I most definitely _am_ going to take that shit, and hell couldn’t pry that word from my lips. He tugs on my hair again as he starts fucking me, at just the right angle, and since I was already so close, it doesn’t take long at all to come. He slows down inside of me, and stops, and I realize the only thing holding me together is Mack, because I’m as weak as a newborn kitten.

“Damn that didn’t take long at all,” he says, half surprised.

“Uh-uh,” is the only coherent statement I can make regarding that subject. He starts to pull away, but I reach up with one hand and grasp his hip to stop him, keeping him inside me. “No, don’t stop,” I whimper. I dig my fingers in his skin with the tiny bit of strength I have left. “Please keep going. Please. Fuck me ‘til to you come. Make me cry like a bitch.” I feel him throb inside me at that.

“Fuck,” is all I hear before I’m smashed into the pillow, pinned underneath him, and he goes to town. He holds me tight and hate-fucks me. I can’t move to get away from it, but I don’t want to. I’m gripping the blanket beneath me, holding on tight to that shit like a life-line. He yanks my head sideways and bites my ear, and I start crying. I don’t notice right away that basically the whole time I’ve been begging. My voice sounds so far away.

But I have been. Throughout Mack fucking me as hard and deep as physically possible I’ve been begging with little pleases and such. I don’t think I’ve ever been this verbal during sex. But apparently me sharing all my dirty thoughts with Mack opened a floodgate on that shit, and now it’s like I can’t shut the fuck up and keep my thoughts to myself. It drives Mack absolutely crazy too, and pretty soon he’s getting off.

He comes, and the whole of him his shaking, he’s breathing heavy, and he’s cursing like a sailor. He stops moving inside me and it’s like this switch suddenly flips in my head. Not like when I flip switch when something pisses me off, but it’s something else. Suddenly I feel insanely vulnerable, and clingy as hell too. He wraps his arms around me for a moment, kissing my cheek, my neck and my shoulder, but when he pulls away I feel so cold.

And suddenly the thought of Mack leaving me makes me feel like I’m going to die.

“No,” I sob, tears streaming down my cheeks, and relinquish my hold on the blanket to grab him and pull him back, gripping his biceps tightly. I don’t want him to go yet. “No, don’t leave. Stay here. Don’t go.”

He lets out an amused snort. “Baby, ya gotta let me up.”

“No!” I pout, clutching him tighter. I _ain’t_ gotta, and he can’t make me. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leavin’, I’m just gonna get somethin’ to clean us up.”

I don’t care. “No, just stay and hold me. Please.”

I feel and hear him sigh, just before he presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Baby, I’ve gotta get up. I’m startin’ to go down and I don’t want to end up losin’ the condom inside you.” Despite this sound logic I continue to pout and he chuckles at me. “Oh come on, now,” he says. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You’re stuck with me.” I feel his fingers brush my skin. “You know that? You’re stuck, and you ain’t gettin’ rid of me. So let me up, baby. Just for a minute.”

 _Fine_. With great reluctance I let him go and he slips out, peels the condom off then slinks off to the bathroom. I feel empty without him, but as that long minute slowly passes I come to my senses and start to feel silly. Mack’s not going anywhere. I roll over and stare at the ceiling as the fog clears in my brain. My entire body feels like it’s made of wax and sat too long in the sun. When Mack comes back I grin stupidly.

He climbs onto the bed and cleans me up, scrubbing my cum off the sheets, tosses the rag aside, and settles on top of me again, snaking his arms around me. He pecks me repeatedly with these nice slow lazy kisses, but not just on my lips. All over my face, and then one on my nose that makes me melt, and feel like I’m sinking further into the mattress. I return the favor. I kiss him all over, his face his neck, his collar bone, and he groans.

His head drops to the crook of my neck and we just stay like that for a while, neither of us in any kind of hurry to leave this space right here. This little bubble of happy. And then my grin turns evil because I remember where we are and what precisely we did. We fucked in mine and Justin’s bed for no other reason than purely to be dicks. I love that. And I kind of love that Mack’s an asshole like that.

The guilt that usually settles in my bones at a thought like that is _gone_.

Oh yeah. Yeah, I have _fully_ embraced my dark side on this one.

We hang out all afternoon and I try to doctor up some of Justin’s health food with some actual flavor when I make us something to eat. By a miracle, it actually tastes like food when we kick back on the couch to eat. We talk. We laugh. It’s a good day. I’m still laughing that evening when Justin gets home, and comes through the door to see us both sitting sideways on the couch, facing one another while we’re talking.

“Hey Mack,” he says, smiling, like he’s happy to see him and nothing is wrong whatsoever.

And then you know what I see?

I see Mack turn his head, facing Justin, look him right in the eye with a great big smile and say, “What’s goin’ on, little man.”

And Justin has no idea why I’m smiling at that.

Doesn’t suspect a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	26. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m pretty sure our therapist is now convinced I’m a sociopath. Definitely leaning toward anti-social personality disorder on this one. Because even in therapy, I don’t restrain myself anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to AO3 for being the best writing platform on this piece of shit planet, am I right?
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Down With The Sickness"–Disturbed](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=JKmmGegan64&feature=share)

Yeah, so, I don’t twitch anymore?

Guess Andy’s going to have to find a new nickname for me.

But seriously though, I really don’t. I mean that’s fucking crazy, right? Me, Twitch, aka Twitchy, and I don’t even fucking twitch. It’s not like I don’t get irritated by anything, and it’s not like I’m magically happy twenty-four seven, because I still get pissed, it’s just that my leg doesn’t start bouncing every time I do. I don’t know how, nor do I know at what point I underwent this change, but I do know _why_.

It’s because I don’t hold everything in anymore.

After all these years, I’ve finally released the demon from it’s cage.

For real, I did. And so now, if I’m irritated by something, I just come out and fucking say so. Instead of keeping my thoughts to myself, I just go off. If I think something’s funny? I laugh, regardless of what people think of me. Even if it pisses off Justin and Sam the way I laugh hysterically at their bullshit, I just shrug it off, because I don’t care about offending them. If I’m happy, I smile, if I’m sad, I frown. (Sometimes even cry about shit.)

I don’t know how it happened, but it’s like a tidal wave of shit just pouring out of me.

It’s cathartic, even somewhat enlightening, but also super fucking scary, because it’s been a long ass time since I’ve been this open emotionally. But some fucking how, that shit happened. Though there _is_ a bit of a downside to it. It means that Justin and I argue basically all the time now. We get into hour long screaming matches about shit until finally I just get so mad I haul off and break something. But I don’t apologize for it anymore.

I don’t feel bad if I smash a plate or two. I just own that shit. Like, it is what it is. I’m a fucking douchebag.

The argument ultimately ends when Justin chirps condescendingly, “You know what, I think you need to calm down because I can’t deal with you when you’re like this,” and walks away.

“Well, you know what, if you’d quit being such a fucking bitch and pushing my buttons just to piss me off you wouldn’t have to!”

Yeah, I don’t let Justin have the last word anymore either.

I’m pretty sure our therapist is now convinced I’m a sociopath. Definitely leaning toward anti-social personality disorder on this one. Because even in therapy, I don’t restrain myself anymore. If it’s my turn to talk and Justin interrupts me, I tell him to shut the fuck up and let me finish. I also laugh maniacally at shit I think is ridiculous. Every time I hear Justin say something that is so blatantly a lie, I’m fucking hysterical.

We are nowhere even close to resolving our issues. But you know, the more we argue, and the more I really listen to what Justin is saying, the more I think we’re just not compatible. I’m just not the guy he wants, and I can’t make myself be that guy. I think maybe Justin always thought that if I came out of the closet I would stop hiding away the stylish, manicured, puppy loving vegan I’ve secretly always been, and it’s just not happening.

I’m just not the guy he thought I was. Because secretly I’ve been way more of an asshole than Justin maybe ever realized, and now that he’s gotten a taste of that intemperate bastard, he’s had enough of their bullshit. But ironically, he stays with me. Maybe because he can’t afford his own apartment, or maybe it’s due to some strange pursuit of altruism, or just because the guy he wants still hasn’t left his wife, but he hasn’t packed his shit yet.

Even though I am truly, undeniably, and certifiably, a dick.

But I’m slowly starting to accept the fact that he’s just not the guy I want either. Like, if this is really the real Justin that he’s been hiding all these years for fear of mine or someone else’s criticism, and this perky, flirty, fem guy is really who he’s been this whole time, he’s just not the guy for me. If this is simply who he wants to be, then we’re guaranteed to fail, because he’s not changing, and neither am I changing who I am to suit him anymore.

I’m _done_ compromising who I am in favor of who he thinks I should be.

But on the flip side of that coin, I’m a lot softer with Mack. It’s always been so much easier to open myself up to him than anyone else (Mostly because he’s seen me bawl my eyes out like a fucking two year old and doesn’t judge me for that shit.) But it’s like I’m more open than before. Or, at least, I’m more comfortable with doing things like being affectionate. I guess that whole realization that I _am_ actually homophobic was an eye opener.

I don’t really care what other people do with their lives, but I did come to the conclusion that I should stop beating myself up mentally for being sensitive and emotional on occasion. So I don’t do that shit anymore. It’s not like I’m not emotional when it comes to Justin, just that all of my emotions with him stem from anger. But Mack, on the other hand? With him I don’t feel as self conscious about being tender, or even sentimental.

Behavior that I would’ve considered emasculate suddenly doesn’t seem so taboo. Yes, I still bristle whenever I hear Justin put on that overly exaggerated feminine tone hanging out with Sam, and I roll my eyes when I see him brush his bangs from his face or bat his eyelashes like a chick, but I get irritated at that for the same reason I do with Sam. Because I just don’t find it attractive. But I’m starting to accept it, I suppose.

And I’m starting to _understand_ it.

(Wow okay shit maybe I _am_ a psycho, if I’ve struggled to understand even simple social cues like eyelash fluttering. Holy fuck. What do you guys think? Like, for real, is that weird? Or does this type of thing happen fairly often for some?)

But whenever I’m with Mack, I don’t feel weird anymore about showing my softer side. I’m not as self conscious as I used to be over things like cooing at babies or demanding to be snuggled. And it’s like the more emotionally available I become, the more Mack reciprocates as well. I don’t really know how to describe it, I mean he’s always been affectionate toward me, but it’s like he’s not quite as apathetic as he usually is. Only during sex.

Oh but the sex though. It’s fucking phenomenal. Like, I had to put password protection on my phone because Mack texted me a link to a website that sells collars, leashes, and other kinky toys, told me to pick some out, and you know what he did? He fucking ordered that shit! I thought he was joking at first, until he showed me the confirmation email they sent. For real, he ordered me a studded black leather collar and matching fucking leash.

(Can we say hubby material?)

I’m starting to be more verbal about my kinks too. Instead of just taking whatever Mack throws at me, I actually _ask_ for things now. I’m just not very good at being sultry or seductive or anything like that, so I’ve never tried, but lately I’ve been okay with at least addressing my own needs about shit. Instead of just pulling him back to the bedroom and letting him fuck my brains out, I _ask_ him to choke me out, and I _ask_ him to call me a bitch.

And, believe it or not, I’m actually submissive on occasion. (The rare occasion.) I think maybe I’ve just always associated submissiveness as something effeminate, and so the reason my instinct is to rebel is because subconsciously I’m revolting against the idea of being anything even resembling that. But secretly I crave it. And maybe I always have. I’ve always wanted to be just the very thing that I’ve been trying to fight.

It kind of freaked Mack out the first time it happened though. I mean there we were, he was behind me, had me trapped in his python death grip, hand reaching up and yanking my head sideways, and instead of fighting it, trying to elbow him or growling at him as I struggle in his arms to get away from him, I just simpered a little, and kind of went limp, only reaching to pet his arm affectionately, but letting him do whatever he wanted to me.

I could feel his confusion set in the moment he relaxed his grip on me. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, quietly, concerned as to why I was acting this way, because it was just so out of character for me.

I just raised my hand to softly thread my fingers through his hair and said, “I just…I don’t feel like fighting right now. I’d just rather take it.”

He hummed a little. “You wanna be good for me, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Yeah, he just like immediately agreed to that shit. No questions asked, no argument whatsoever. (Another crazy thing about Mack that I fucking love. Just the way he indulges my every whim like that.) But the whole rest of the time, Mack switched up his game, and suddenly it wasn’t just about rough housing it like usual, but centered more around me being submissive, me being “good”, even obeying commands rather than just rough sex.

He even had these little mock punishments for me if I did something “bad”, where he’d spank me a little, or tease me. Yeah we had a real dom/sub moment. It was a lot of fun. But not once did he question why I didn’t want to fight or even attempt to push his buttons. Why I wanted to behave myself for once. He just went with it. Since then we’ve talked and I opted to vocalize my struggle with my sexuality as of late.

And after releasing all that, all my frustration over all these deep seated insecurities, you know what his response was? Well, he just sighs at me, rubs my back and says, “Baby, don’t beat yourself up over actin’ feminine an’ shit. If you wanna act like that from time to time go on ahead and do it. I don’t give a shit. You do what you want, and if anyone don’t like it they can take their opinions elsewhere an’ fuck right the fuck off.”

Ha, the Macintosh family motto laced in that statement right there. Live your life your way, or no way at all. There’s just no in-between with a guy like Mack. And I fucking love that about him. Like, he seriously doesn’t give a fuck. About anything. So he doesn’t care if I whine or pout about something, or if I’m extra clingy on occasion. He never cared if I cried during sex either, but the list of fucks he gives about anything is getting shorter.

So yeah, I’m starting to not care either. Even around other people. Whenever we go to Smoke’s house and chill with him and Andy, I don’t feel that underlying anxiety over Mack having his arm around me anymore. Like, I don’t feel weird at all. But with that being said, I refuse to let anyone tell me I can’t dress the way I dress, or listen to heavy metal bands, just because occasionally I might be a bit effeminate from time to time.

I’m not going to suddenly start jamming out to Taylor Swift, wearing make-up or carrying a fanny pack. Sorry, no, not happening. I’m _not_ transgender. I’m not questioning my gender identity here. I’m still a dude. Even if on occasion I cry during sex, or maybe get a little clingy afterwards. I still like what I like, and I refuse to let Justin judge me on that shit. “Music that just _promotes_ aggressive behavior”? Fuck right the hell off.

Justin can take his toxic masculinity bullshit and shove it up his whoring ass. I’m not going to let societal views of homosexuality shape who I am. No, I’m not going to go out and push my thoughts and opinions on other people and expect them to act, say and think what I want, but nor am I going to take their judgement of my behavior. Fuck that shit. Just like I’m not going to let people judge me for liking poetry anymore.

So I’ve been writing again too. Now that I’m no longer suppressing all my emotions on a daily basis, my creative spark has started to resurface as well. Just little things here and there mostly. Some snippets of poems or short stories as they pop in my head. But also some prose too. Whenever I get a thought in my head, and it just pours out. My phone is running out of space because of all the documents I’ve been accumulating.

I share almost all of them with Mack. (I say almost because there are a few that are too sensitive a topic, like my secret undying love and devotion to my boyfriend’s older brother.) He loves reading them. Lee too. She even turned me onto this website where I can post my writing if I want. It’s called Archive Of Our Own, or AO³ for short, and people post pretty much anything and everything on it. Poems, stories, fan fiction, anything.

I don’t know if I’ll use it? But I’m thinking about it. I’m at least keeping it in mind as a creative outlet.

Oh but yes, I’m still friends with Lee and boy does it piss Justin off. He doesn’t think it’s “fair to Sam” to still be friends with her even though they’re not a thing anymore. I call bullshit. If it weren’t for Lee, he and Sam wouldn’t even _be_ friends. Lee was the one to introduce us to Sam in the first place. Lee was there first, and so in my mind, it only makes sense to remain loyal to Lee. But regardless of who did what or why, Lee is awesome and I love her.

Justin can fuck off. But what he doesn’t know is that I _know_ why he’s loyal to Sam. Sam knows all of his dirty little secrets, knows all about his rendezvous with Mark, and is even in on that shit with him. She’s his accomplice, so of course he’s going to be all BFFs with Samantha and talk shit about Lee just because they broke up. Because knowing Sam, the second Justin told her to fuck off, she’d run to me and tell me all about Mark.

At least that’s how I see it anyway. But I don’t let that shit bother me anymore. Even Sam’s bullshit. At the same time I’m releasing all my pent up emotions, I’m letting go of my anger. All of my hate, and all my grudges. Like, I’m facing that shit head on, instead of letting it build up inside me until I explode. It’s been very therapeutic. Hey maybe this whole couples’ counseling thing really _is_ working out. (At least for me.)

Because ever since I opened up about my problems and came to terms with some shit, I’ve been feeling ten times better than I ever have in the last eight years. But you know it could be something else. It could all be ode to the very person that made all this shit happen in the first place. It really could be Mack that has changed me. Mack who’s been causing me to evolve. Mack who brought out the real me.

(Well, more like dragged out, kicking, screaming, and flailing like a two year old having a temper tantrum, but you get what I mean.)

Like maybe Mack is the reason I don’t twitch anymore.

I mean it’s kind of like the leg rubbing thing. You guys remember reading that? The crazy instance where all Mack did was touch my leg and it stopped bouncing? Yeah that shit really works, and I feel like that’s what’s been happening to me. Mack is slowly ironing out all my rough edges and polishing them like marble. Just like with my leg, I’m starting to think that maybe this whole time, Mack has been like a balm to my soul.

He’s just been slowly increasing the circumference of the distribution of that balm, so that now it’s spread to every aspect of my life, not just something physical. Because being with Mack feels like one long stretch of that hand on my leg, and the whole time it’s been soothing my heart. Shit, maybe it’s always been that way. Maybe I’ve always loved Mack. I just never allowed myself to fully realize how I felt.

I just always associated my sexual fantasies with lust, and our easy, almost effortless interactions with totally platonic friendship, and rejected any notions of love because I just assumed it could never be more. I disconnected from any romantic feelings because there was simply no room for them. To me, Mack was only ever going to be “Justin’s hot brother”, and nothing more. But maybe deep down, I always felt a connection.

I don’t know, but I think about it.

But there’s just _one_ problem I have about not blocking shit out or hiding my true feelings away anymore. When I’m alone, laying on the couch in my apartment at night, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts race and I can’t sleep. Yeah, my insomnia’s gotten worse. Because when I’m alone and there’s no one or nothing to distract me, nothing but my own head, there’s one emotion in particular that resurfaces, and just like with all the rest, I can’t ignore it anymore either.

 _Fear_.

I lay awake at night thinking about all the things I’m most deeply afraid of. I bite my nails incessantly over why I can’t just pack my shit and leave, move in with Mack, and be happy. My fear of him never loving me back, my fear of losing him even if he did, my fear of Justin leaving me, my fear of Mack abandoning me, and the overall fear of ultimately being alone. Of no one ever needing me, or wanting me, just like my parents didn’t want me.

Of Mack dying on me just like my grandma did.

Of never being good enough for him, just like I’m not good enough for Justin.

Thinking maybe the reason he changed his mind and stopped begging me to stay with him was because he _doesn’t_ love me, it’s only about sex, and him harping on me about leaving his brother is just him trying to be a good friend.

That Mack doesn’t really want me like that, and could _never_ want me like that. He just wants to fuck.

He’s just using me.

He doesn’t care.

Sometimes I hide my face under my pillow and quietly sob about that shit, hoping Justin doesn’t hear me.

Tonight, I especially feel like shit and I can’t quit tossing and turning.

But I hear my phone vibrate nearby on the coffee table.

I reach for it, type in my password (It’s Mack’s birthday, because I know the first thing Justin would’ve guessed is grandma’s birthday, but he would never guess I’d use his brother’s) I pull up my messages and see it’s Mack texting me actually and at first I panic, because Mack is precisely the reason I’m freaking out right now. ‘Hey baby. You still awake?’ he texted me, and I tap my phone a few times before finally hitting the call button.

I throw my shorts back on as it’s ringing.

“Hey,” he answers.

“Hey,” I say back, scooping up my cigarettes and lighter and heading out onto the porch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, like he already knows.

“No.”

“Same here. So what’s goin’ on? What’s wrong?”

“Eh, I’m fine,” I lie. “Just thinking about shit. Have a lot on my mind. What’s goin’ on with you?”

“Nothin’, I just…” He sighs, and doesn’t finish that sentence. “Oh just, you know, the usual, stressin’ about work and shit. So you wanna talk about what’s botherin’ you?”

No. No, I don’t. “I-It’s not a big deal. Was kind of hoping for a distraction really.”

“Oh? And just what kind of _distraction_ did you have in mind?” he asks me, suggestively, and I chuckle.

“I just meant we could talk,” I say. “Just about something else.”

“Alright,” he says. “Did I ever tell you about the time my dad and Smoke went down to Mexico?”

He proceeds to tell me about Smoke and Eddie Sr going down south, over the border, and trying to smuggle dope back to the States in Smoke’s car, but they got caught by border security and not only was the car searched, but they were also subjected to a cavity search. But get this: It was not some cute little female patrol officer doing the search. Nope. It was some big burly dude named Buck, and things got awkward.

And a little weird.

Maybe even kinda kinky.

Smoke and Eddie couldn’t talk or even look each other in the eye for _weeks_ after they got out of jail.

I’m laughing my ass off as Mack’s telling me this story.

I’m not thinking about how scared I am anymore.

I just listen to his voice.

And I think to myself, maybe everything _will_ be okay.

Maybe I can get through this.

But I know what you guys are probably thinking. Something like, “Christ, Lenny! When are you gonna jump off all this introspective bullshit and get back to the steamy sweaty sex already?”

Fuck you, I’m on an emotional journey here, okay?

I made no promises this would be 100% certifiable porn with no plot, alright?

So just relax, okay? Just kick back and enjoy the story, because trust me, there’s plenty more to tell. (And yes, that also means more sex in later chapters, you horny fuckers.)

But my journey is far from over.

Besides, who’s the one writing this diary here? You or me?

I’ll give you one guess.

Hint: It ain’t you, asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	27. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You know I still remember first meeting Mack?_
> 
> _Verbatim, the image still fresh in my mind like it just happened yesterday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Fell On Black Days"–Soundgarden](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=UtO-YNBNAL4&feature=share)

You know I still remember first meeting Mack?

Verbatim, the image still fresh in my mind like it just happened yesterday.

Let me set the scene for you. It was graduation day. The class of ‘09. The overcrowded gymnasium in a total uproar because halfway through my speech I started cussing out one of the teachers. The parents were outraged, but my fellow students were laughing. Okay, maybe not the student council, they didn’t think it was all that funny, but a lot of other people did. I was like fuck it, I’m not coming back here anyway, what do I care.

I was a _major_ dick back then. But there I was, behind the podium, and I was fed up with all the bullshit I had to deal with at that school, ready to put it far behind me. Tired of people looking at me like I was some kind of loser just because I was locked up, fucking judging me for shit they knew nothing about. And a lot of people hated me, so when I got up on stage a couple of people actually booed me and shit.

I was nervous as hell too. I’d never tried to do public speaking before, and I had a speech prepared on little cue cards so I wouldn’t forget. The only reason I was up there was because the principal basically twisted my arm about doing it in the first place. Like, having the class valedictorian give a speech at graduation was a must. I didn’t want to be up there. I started sweating and when I opened my mouth I forgot some of the words.

People started laughing at me, and I got pissed.

“We’re gathered here today to–uhm–t-to…” And that’s when people started snickering at me. “To celebrate…” I looked around at all the faces, then I sighed. “You know what, fuck it.” People gasped when I said the f word, and I crumpled the pieces of paper in my hand. Behind me the gym teacher was red faced. “I’m just gonna say what I gotta say be done with this shit.”

“Mr. Bordeaux!” one of the teachers reprimanded me, but I ignored them.

“Look the reason why I’m even up here is because despite the fact that I was locked up for two years my ass still graduated _and_ at the top of my class. Now what that means is either I busted my ass to get here? Or y’all are some dumb fuckin’ kids.” People went crazy when I said that and I started chuckling. “No but for real though, for real, it proves that if you work hard at somethin’ you want, you can do that shit. And that’s shit you can be proud of–”

“Mr. Bordeaux,” the gym teacher got up from his seat and reached for my arm. I snatched it back.

“Chill the fuck out man I’m almost done!” He started reaching for the mic to turn it off so I snatched that shit off the stand and darted away from him with it, making people laugh at the spectacle. “Just-Just hold on a minute!” I laugh. “Look all I’m sayin’ is good job everybody. Just like me you worked hard. You studied your ass off. You fucking made it and after today, you ain’t gotta come back here. Like for real that’s some monumental shit!”

Meanwhile Mr. Griffon was stalking me across the stage, weaving his way through fold-out chairs full of teachers to get to me, and I’m trying not to let the chord get tangled up around me as I’m dodging him, making students (And even some parents) laugh even harder.

Andy was way in the back having trouble breathing because he was laughing so hard.

“You know for a P.E. teacher, man, you’re fuckin’ slow as hell.”

“Mr. Bordeaux you’ve got five seconds to drop that microphone!”

“Oh come off me man, it ain’t like you gotta see me again after this!”

“Leonard!” I heard my grandma snap at me from the audience.

“Get off the stage!” Mr. Griffon barked.

“Oh fuck off!” I told him, but I was done anyway.

And convinced I’m probably about to die, because my grandma looked super fucking pissed that I was embarrassing her like this.

When I dropped the mic and hauled ass off stage, people applauding despite the lewdness of my behavior, there was my grandma standing amid the crowd of students, parents and faculty starting to disperse, but some of them lingering to chat. The second I got within arm’s reach of her she smacked me upside the head with her pink flowery purse, knocking my cap off. You know for an old lady, she could really swing.

Like, for real, that shit fucking hurt. But I should’ve seen it coming really.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Leonard Bordeaux!” she screeched. “What in tarnation is the matter with you?! Cussing like that onstage! Boy I oughtta wash your mouth out with soap!”

“Sorry!” I winced, rubbing the back of my head where she smacked me. But I didn’t get pissed or anything like that. Grandma always had that effect on me. Like my grandma was the one person I would never _ever_ go off on. I knew better than to do that shit. So I just grimaced a little, apologetically. She huffed at me.

“Oh come here,” she said and pulled me into a suffocating hug. “My grandson graduating at the top of his class! I’m so proud of you sweetie!”

“Thank you, grandma,” I said with a smile, and seconds later Justin came running up to us.

“That was a great speech, Lenny,” he said, acting kind of shy. Lie, it was total shit. I am not good with public speaking, like obviously, but… “You did really good. Maybe not the part where you told Mr. Griffon to buzz off?” He chuckled nervously. “But it was great.”

“Thanks man.”

“I’m so proud of you boys,” Grandma said to us, and Justin shucked a little.

“Thanks Mrs. Marks.”

“Where are your parents, honey?” she asked him, looking around. He sighed.

“They couldn’t make it. Mom had to work and Brent’s teaching a class.”

“Wow that sucks,” I told him. Like for real, his parents couldn’t call off work to show up for his graduation? That’s kind of shitty. But hey, that shit happens, I guess. Being an adult I totally get it, but at the time it just sucked major balls that Justin was alone at his graduation. I felt kinda bad for him. But grandma offered to take the both of us out for ice cream, and I don’t care if I’m eighteen and a grown adult now, I am _never_ too old for ice cream.

And I would _never_ say no to my grandma.

But it was at that moment, as she walked away to speak to one of the other parents, a friend from church, that the crowd parted and the hottest fucking guy on the planet walked up to us. He had short hair back then, and he was clean shaved. He wore his shirt buttoned up and tucked in, instead of loose and unkempt like nowadays. But the sleeves were rolled up, he had a wallet with a chain attached to it, and was wearing boots instead of dress shoes.

Kind of like he was trying to dress up, but not really used to doing it.

My knees threatened to buckle. Like I swear to fucking god the second I saw him it was like nothing else in this world even existed. But I was also kind of an asshole, and super fucking critical of my outward behavior, so I fixed my face with a scowl, tilted my head up in a standoffish way like I used to do in lock-up, hoping my eyes roaming over him looked more like I was sizing him up rather than checking him out.

As soon as Justin saw him, his demeanor changed entirely too, but from meek and mild to disdainful. Like this guy was literally the last person he wanted to see. (Back then he was being brainwashed into thinking both his dad and his brother were total pieces of shit.) Mack didn’t look too comfortable either, but it was mostly just this awkwardness, like he didn’t really know what to say or do.

“Hey little man,” he said to Justin, who scowled and folded both arms.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and judging by the palpable tension between these two, for a second I felt the instinctive urge to protect Justin from him. My hands reflexively clenched tightly into fists. Mack sighed.

“It’s your graduation, and you’re eighteen now, so I thought–”

“I haven’t seen or heard from you or dad in almost two years and _now_ suddenly you care? Evidently only when it’s convenient for you.”

“Dammit, Justin, it ain’t like that. You know your mom don’t want me in her house, and I’ve tried to call but she won’t pick up the damned phone.”

Justin didn’t look too reassured by that, and because he looked like he really didn’t want to be around this guy, signals were firing in my brain. I stepped closer, appropriating my distance equally between Justin and this stranger, so I could be ready to get between them if I had to, and asked, “Justin, who is this asshole?” That’s when Mack’s eyes met mine, and I don’t know which one of us looked more murderous.

Justin huffed. “My brother.”

I lifted a brow, and glanced back at him. “You have a brother?”

“Evidently not,” Mack mumbled. “Look I just wanted to come tell you congratulations. And I was…I was hopin’ we could talk, about some things.”

Justin pursed his lips. “Where’s dad?”

“He couldn’t make it. That’s…what I need to talk to you about.” He stepped closer, almost cautiously, hands raising defensively. “There’s somethin’ I need to tell you. Just not here? Maybe we can go outside?”

“Whatever you have to say you can say it in front of Lenny,” he snipped. Mack glanced back and forth between the two of us.

“Justin this ain’t somethin’ we should-”

“Spit it out already!”

He sighed. He looked super uncomfortable when he then said, “Dad’s in the hospital. He collapsed last night. I took him to the emergency room. They still don’t know what’s wrong yet, but they…they’re thinkin’ it might be somethin’ serious.”

Justin froze, his anger slowly melting, and so did my agitation.

Okay yeah now I could see why he didn’t want to discuss this in front of total strangers.

That was the day they found out Eddie Sr was sick.

Not a very happy occasion. And to find out on a day that’s supposed to be celebratory? Definitely not fun.

“Why don’t you guys talk and I’ll catch up with you later,” I told Justin, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly before I walked away. It was no longer my business to be involved. That was some private shit, that was none of my concern, and I wanted no part of.

I didn’t see Mack again for almost two years. They were in and out of the hospital with Eddie Sr and trying to get along with each other for their dad’s sake, and meanwhile I was involved in my own shit. Started my job at the restaurant, and as Justin and I slowly drifted apart now that we weren’t seeing each other every day in school and on the weekends, I started hanging almost exclusively around a very _different_ crowd. Mostly people I met through Smoke.

On occasion, Justin would ask if he could come over, and maybe we’d play some video games, but I didn’t really know how to be supportive of a friend caring for a sick father, and when Eddie died, I wasn’t any help with that either. I don’t deal with death very well. Then strange things started happening with my grandma. Like, really weird inexplicable things. Stuff she would normally remember, suddenly she was forgetting.

She was confused all the time, and occasionally she’d start cussing about something, which had me worried about her because she was strict on that no cussing shit. She was a Christian, and not one of those types to follow the bible only when it suited her. No, she wasn’t no Sunday Christian. She did her best to live every moment of every day of her life in God’s name. So the first time I heard her say, “Goddamn it!” I dropped my cereal bowl in my lap.

But two years after graduation, Justin called me up and asked if I wanted to go hang out with him at his brother’s house. He was trying to stay connected to Mack and have some kind of relationship for their father’s sake, but he was still kind of shy to the idea of spending any one-on-one time with him. He needed me as a buffer. So I had my grandma drop me off at Mack’s house one Saturday after Justin gave me the directions.

Grandma pulled into the parking space next to the single-wide, and said, “Now you go and have yourself a nice time with your friends, Malcolm, and you call me if you need anything, okay sweetie?” The moment I heard the name Malcolm every muscle in my body tensed in the passenger’s seat. I’m sure you can guess why. But this had happened before. Grandma confusing me with my dad because we look so much alike.

(I would find out later that a brain tumor was causing all of this confusion and erratic, uncharacteristic behavior.)

It wasn’t that she forgot who I was either, or suddenly forgot that she had a grandson named Leonard. No she still knew it was me, she just kept calling me the wrong name by accident. It freaked me the fuck out, but I did my best to keep my mouth shut, just smile and nod, leaning in so she could plant a kiss on my cheek before I got out of the car. She pulled away and there I was, in front of Mack’s trailer, lighting a cigarette.

I was such a fucking punk too. For real, I think I even had a sign above my head flashing the word “Douchebag” in multicolored neon lights. My head was buzzed and I wore a t-shirt that had the sleeves cut off and slit open all the way down the sides. I think I was even high that day too, if I recall correctly. I looked around, didn’t see Justin anywhere. So I pulled out my Tracfone and dialed his number. No answer.

Back then Justin was just starting to do these tiny, seemingly insignificant things that would piss me off. Like blow me off or ignore my calls and shit. You guys know how much I hate that shit. I was getting irritated, but thinking maybe he was already there, so I walked up to the porch and banged on the door. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach when Mack answered the door in (You guessed it) nothing but a pair of faded jeans.

His hair was just a bit longer than when I last saw him, but he was no longer clean shaven. Had a mess of scruff on his face. Like he holed up in his trailer for the last six months, and just finally woke up from hibernation. Made sense. He was always way closer to Eddie Sr than Justin ever was. His death must’ve hit him hard. He leaned against the door frame and looked me up and down (Holy shit, he was checking me out, wasn’t he?)

“Who the fuck are you?” he scowled.

I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth. “I’m the asshole lookin’ for Justin Macintosh. He around?”

“Nah. He ain’t here.”

Well, fuck. So we stared at each other for a full five seconds before I’m like, okay this shit is awkward. It’s awkward, right? “Well he told me he was gonna meet me here.”

“Well, he ain’t here yet.” Mack looked me over one last time, then sighed a little. “Come on in. You can wait for him inside.” So I stepped over the threshold and followed him into the trailer, looking around (And most definitely checking out that beautiful ass in those faded boot cut jeans when his back was turned.) It was kind of messy. Justin told me he worked all the time, and he did construction, so I assumed he was just too tired to clean, but…

I don’t know. There was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, a sink full of dirty dishes and papers and garbage piling up on the tables and counters, like he just stopped caring about the mess. I didn’t know it at the time, but he really _didn’t_ care. After his dad died, he hit a period of, “What’s the fucking point?” Almost lost his job too because he’d been missing so many days. Luckily, his boss cut him some slack because he knew he’d just lost his dad.

(But I never saw the loaded pistol sitting on the stand next to the recliner, hidden under an old newspaper.)

“So you’re Lenny, I’m guessing?” he turned back and asked me, and I jerked my head in a nod.

I followed him to the kitchen counter, watched him pour a cup of coffee. I didn’t like him at the time, but mostly because all I knew about him was what Justin told me. But he politely offered me a cup and I thanked him. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but I wasn’t about to be a total dick and turn down a free cup of coffee, being his guest. My grandma taught me better than that. “You’re Eddie, right?” I asked him. Mack just flexed his jaw a little.

“Eddie was my father. Just call me Mack.”

“Mack? For real, your name is Mack?” I snort. “What, like short for Mack Daddy or some shit?” I would happily let this guy be _my_ daddy, that was for sure. He scoffed at me.

“Nah. Mack as in _Macintosh_ , dipshit.” Yeah, I deserved that. He pulled out a cigarette. Then he turned and looked at me fully, this sudden realization seeming to hit him just then. He leaned his head to the side. “Wait a minute, I remember you.” He pulled the unlit cigarette from his mouth and pointed his finger at me. “You’re that punk kid that cussed out the teachers an’ shit at Justin’s graduation, ain’tchya?”

I smirked a little. “Yeah that was me.”

“How the fuck did you graduate with honors bein’ that dumb?” he asked me with a chuckle.

I shrugged. “I’m just good like that, I guess,” I said with a cheesy smile, and Mack huffed, shaking his head at me.

“You’ve got some balls on you, pullin’ that kind of shit.”

That almost sounded like a compliment. I relaxed my shoulders a little. Thinking maybe he’s not so much the dick Justin made him out to be. Just blunt, that’s all. One of those kind of guys that says whatever the hell’s on his mind, and doesn’t give a fuck what people think, just like me. I could respect that. Obviously someone like Justin just wouldn’t understand, but I totally got it. So I just chuckled at his remark and puffed on my cigarette.

But then I got a thought in my head of something else, my smile faded, and I sighed a little, scratching my head.

My eyes scanned the kitchen for a moment, seeing the state Mack was in.

“Hey man, listen, I just…I just wanted to say, about your dad, you know like, I’m sorry for that shit. It’s gotta be hard. I ain’t gonna act like I know how you feel or anything, I mean my parents died when I was little and shit, like it was a long ass time ago, but…” I shrugged a little. “Just so you know, like I kinda get where you’re coming from.” Mack just stared at me while I said all that, me awkwardly trying to give my condolences and shit.

He looked kind of surprised.

But then he slowly nodded a little. “You lost your mom and dad?” he asked, and I nodded. “How’d that happen?”

“A…a c-car accident?” I stammered, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling super uncomfortable all of the sudden, but he just nodded understandingly, and didn’t say anything else about it.

He puffed on his cigarette and the silence stretched for a minute, bordering on awkward. But he stared at the counter for a minute and rubbed his chin with his thumb like he was thinking about something. “Losin’ dad was pretty hard,” he finally admitted, flicking the ashes off his cigarette. “I loved ‘em. And he was kinda the only family I had for a long time, ‘cause Justin’s mom, Linda, she…she didn’t want him to have nothin’ to do with neither of us.

She’s always hated my guts. Told me if I ever came around, or tried to talk to him an’ shit, she’d file a restraining order.” Well, damn. That explains why Justin hadn’t seen him for almost two years before he turned eighteen and graduated and shit. “She thinks I ain’t nothin’ but a loser, and a _drunk_ , just like dad was,” he scoffed. Then he nudged the empty bottle of Jack on the counter. “Hell, she might be right.”

I stamp my cigarette in the ashtray. “You know? I don’t really like her all that much,” I commented. Mack lifted a brow. “She’s kind of stuck-up and shit.”

He laughed, some of the tension melting from his frame. The hair raised on the back of my neck. Like, I swear the sound of Mack’s laughter was like music to my ears.

“Hell yeah she is,” he agreed. “Her and that limp dicked pencil pusher she married. What’s his name, Brian?”

“Brent.”

“Yeah, him. I’d like ta knock his teeth in.”

It was my turn to laugh. “I’d pay you to do it.”

Mack grinned at me.

Oh that grin.

That smug fucking grin.

(I think it was at _that_ moment right there that I fell hopelessly in love, and Mack could probably tell I wanted to fuck his brains out.)

But then his smile faded a little and he got kind of serious again.

“You know my brother talks about you all the time,” he told me. “Says you’ve been a real good friend to ‘em. Thank you for that. He ain’t got too many of ‘em, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but his mom’s kinda nuts? I…” He shrugged a shoulder. “I worry about him sometimes. But I don’t really know how to talk to him about shit. It’s–uh–it’s just good to know someone’s lookin’ out for ‘em.”

I just nodded a little, because I didn’t really know what to say to that. I did try to be a good friend to Justin. I sucked at that shit, and more often than not some of the things Justin said or did would irritate the hell out of me, but every time I looked at him I’d still see that dorky kid I rescued from some punk losers and something inside of me felt the need to protect him. But Mack made me sound like I was a lot better of a person than I felt was.

But Mack though. I was really starting to like Mack. Like, he was a helluva lot easier to talk to than Justin. “So what time did my brother say he’d be here?” he asked me and I shrugged.

“He didn’t. Just told me to come over.” I checked the time on my phone. “I thought he’d be here by now.”

“Yeah he does that a lot,” Mack told me, with a small shrug, kind of apologetically. “He’s kinda scatterbrained, like his mom.”

“Yeah I noticed,” I sighed.

“You hungry?” Mack asked me, perking up a little, stamping out his cigarette. “I just gotta…” He glanced around. “Gotta bit of cleanin’ up to do, but I could fix you somethin’ to eat.”

“Sure,” I chirped. “Need some help?”

“Nah, you ain’t gotta do that–”

“I don’t mind.” I walked over to the sink and turned on the water. “I’ll clean, you cook,” I said, in a tone of voice that left no room for argument about it. He just chuckled a little, shook his head at me, but finally just shrugged and said ‘alright’ and I helped Mack straighten up the kitchen while he fried some bacon and eggs. And we talked, just bullshitted about whatever we felt like, throughout. We just kind of clicked really.

Like it felt like I’d known him for years. By the time Justin finally showed up, the whole kitchen was clean, even some of the living room straightened up, the two of us had eaten, and were sitting down, him in the recliner and me on the couch, still talking about shit. Mostly about our mutual hatred of Justin’s mom and step-dad, and some of the annoying things Justin does that pisses us off. And we talked about our jobs too.

Justin came through the door and flopped down on the couch. Mack turned on the tv, and we started watching the fight he’d recorded, which was the original reason we came over. I think it’s funny as hell, every time I think about how all three of us were hanging out watching UFC like, “Look at us! A bunch of straight guys right here! That are totally _not_ secretly sweating over half naked dudes pummeling each other to the floor!”

But yeah, I stuck around for Mack. I stayed friends with Justin for Mack. I found any and every excuse to hang out with Mack. And even after we started dating, even though I didn’t really like Justin, still, having the two of them kind of made me feel sort of like having a family after my grandma passed away. Like I wasn’t alone. They both came to the funeral too. And all throughout the years, Mack and I had remained good friends.

I needed a guy like Mack in my life.

And looking back on it, I think maybe he needed somebody like me too.

I’m glad I decided to visit his house that day.

Because I don’t know what I’d do without him.

* * *

“Whatchya thinkin’ about?” Mack asks me, as we’re laying in bed, sheets tangled up around us, and I’m on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

I roll over and curl into him, draping my leg over his and burying my head in the crook of his neck. I stretch my arm across him, and I feel him rub my back then plant a kiss on the side of my head.

“Was thinking about when we first started hanging out, actually,” I say.

“I remember those days.”

“Yeah me too. I _was_ kind of a dick back then, wasn’t I?”

He snorts. “Kinda yeah,” he agrees. Then he sighs and hugs me tighter. “That was kinda what I liked the most about you though,” he tells me. He hand drifts down to the small of my back, then back up, slowly, fingers lightly brushing my skin. I hum a little. It feels so good. But then I pop my head up and scoot closer, until I’m almost completely on top of him, and I stare down at him, brushing his cheek with my thumb.

I want to say it. I want to tell him how much he means to me. How much he’s changed my life, for the better, and how badly I want to be with him. Maybe I’m ready. Maybe I can do it. So I take a deep breath and open my mouth to speak. But the words won’t come out still. My throat closes, and my chest tightens. Fuck, it’s just three little words! Why are they so hard to say? I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Why can’t I say, ‘I love you, Mack’?

“Thank you,” I say instead.

“For what, baby?” he asks.

“Just for being you,” I answer, and I lay my head back down. Another kiss, this time on my forehead.

“I’ll always be me,” he murmurs. “That ain’t gonna change…And I’ll always be here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Len,” he adds. My fingers dig a little into his skin as I cling tighter to him.

God I fucking hope not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	28. Leashed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey, I can pretend to be a nice, normal, friendly, upstanding guy for five minutes,” I say. Mack shoots me a look because he knows me better than that. “…Or, well, I can try at least.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what guys? I made a new blog for longer posts like character bios and talking about my writing process, if you want to check it out @ [lennybordeaux.blogspot.com](https://lennybordeaux.blogspot.com), because I'm on mobile and I can't trim posts on Tumblr, but don't stop following Lenny's Diary on Tumblr because I'll still be there too!
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Cryin’ Like A Bitch!!"–Godsmack](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=HPo8pRKvA6k&feature=share)

Man these pants are fucking tight. Like, Jesus fucking Christ! It’s almost like this shit is cutting off my circulation, and fuck I hope it isn’t.

I know, I know, what the fuck am I doing wearing tight ass fucking pants, right?

Right.

Now before you make your smart ass comments, they’re _not_ skinny jeans, okay? They’re just…they’re just a little on the snug side, that’s all. Like, it’s not that big of a deal, but yes they’re much tighter than what I’d normally prefer, so I’m kind of shifting around a little in the driver’s seat of my Pontiac, headed over to Mack’s house. I decided to change up my style a bit. I mean I’m still going to be who I am, but I’m also kind of on this new kick of embracing some kinds of things I wouldn’t have previously.

Really I’m just trying to look good for Mack. He’s always telling me I’ve got a nice ass and shit, so I thought I’d show it off a little. I’m no fashion expert, but I do at least have a basic concept of it, so I’ve been trying this new thing where I dress more for the value of sex appeal than just for comfort alone. I feel like I look like one of those Scene kids. You remember them? That shit was real popular back when I was in high school.

Not at my school though, because guys wouldn’t be caught dead in tight pants in my neck of the woods, but like, in bigger towns and shit, and I was seeing it all over tv and and in movies where like guys would be wearing really tight jeans with their converse, beanies on their heads in the middle of summer, dyed their hair blue-black, and had their bangs falling in their faces like the lead singer of Three Days Grace and shit. Listening to punk and emo bands on their mp3 players.

I feel like I look like that because I’ve got on these too tight pants with my black studded belt and my chain wallet, wearing my Vans, and I’ve got on this old shirt that used to be a lot looser until I started gaining more weight and jumped from a buck thirty up to like one sixty. It’s sleeveless and black, kind feels like that underarmour material, like that shiny silky shit jocks wear under their uniforms. But I’m hiding my hair under a bandanna because it’s getting really fucking annoying.

(Man, having an undercut does _not_ look good once it grows out.)

I think all I’m missing now is the black eyeliner and secret stash of Nightmare Before Christmas merchandise. I took some selfies right after I first got dressed before I left my apartment, and text that shit to Lee with the caption, ‘Kill me.’ She sent back a string of laughing emojis then text me and said I look ‘sooo cute’ with a bunch of hearts and smiley faces. I just sent her the one with the laughing face and the tongue sticking out, then headed out the door.

I feel like I look like a putz when I get out of the car and walk up the steps to Mack’s porch, pinching a cigarette between my lips as I knock on the screen door, then turn my eyes back to my phone, texting Lee still. We might be going out to dinner and a movie later, and I finally get to meet Nay, who’s also bringing her brother, so it’s kind of a meet the family and friends kind of date, and Lee asked if I wanted to go. I text her back a thumbs up as Mack’s opening the door and he looks me up and down.

“Hey,” I say, looking up, smirking, and he leans against the door frame, eyes passing over me.

“Hey,” is his response, but he’s most definitely not making eye contact. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Just turn around.”

I sigh and slowly turn around in a circle on the porch, hearing him hum appreciatively then mumble, “Damn.”

I’m never wearing baggy pants ever again, no matter how comfortable they are.

So he lets me inside, closes the door behind me and pulls me in for a quick kiss. “So who are you dressin’ up an’ lookin’ all fuckable for?” he asks me. “’Cause I know damn well it ain’t me.”

Aw, he really thinks I wouldn’t dress sexy for him? Or does he mean I don’t have to? “Well the only person I’m tryna fuck is _your_ sexy ass,” I tell him and he snorts. “But I might be going out with Lee tonight,” I add, pulling away and setting my phone on the kitchen counter, then flicking the ashes off my cigarette in the ashtray before taking a drag. I grin. “I _finally_ get to meet Nay.” Mack bursts into a chuckle at that, shaking his head.

“That poor girl’s gonna run screamin’ once she spends five minutes with your ignorant ass,” he tells me.

I scowl at him. “Hey, I can pretend to be a nice, normal, friendly, upstanding guy for five minutes,” I say. Mack shoots me a look because he knows me better than that. “…Or, well, I can try at least.”

He just laughs at me. “So what’s with the rag on your head?”

“It’s my fuckin’ hair, man. That shit’s getting too long for my taste. It’s fucking annoying.”

“Why don’t you just cut it? I’ve got clippers in the bathroom, just buzz the shit off.”

“Yeah I thought about it, but see then you couldn’t yank on my hair while you’re fuckin’ this ass.”

He groans a little like he’s thinkin’ about how good that feels, then says, “Yeah ya gotta point there.” He totally eye fucks me for a moment. But then he changes the subject. “Package arrived.”

My eyes widen, and Mack points to the coffee table in the living room and I lean over the counter to spot a cardboard box sitting on it, and I clamp my hand over my mouth, bouncing on the balls of my feet in excitement, _insanely_ fucking giddy when I see the company logo on the side of the box. Not like you can tell what he ordered just by looking at the package, but I remember the website we ordered it from, and I know what’s inside that box. “Well, go on, open it,” he tells me.

I literally jump up and down with joy before I skip over to the couch and flop down on it, stamping my cigarette out in the tray and feasting my eyes on that precious cardboard box covered in packing tape and shipment stickers. I’m like a fucking kid on Christmas morning right now. Have you guys guessed what it is yet? Oh you’re going to love this almost as much as I will.

Mack follows me into the living room and hands me a pair of scissors to cut away the tape, then watches me, arms folded, with that smug fucking grin as I open the box.

I squeal. No joke, I fucking squeal like a little girl and stomp my feet when I spot a hint of something shiny and black tucked inside plastic wrap. I’m almost _reverent_ as I slowly fold back the box flaps and carefully lift it out of the box to hold it up. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life, next to Mack of course. A brand spanking new black leather collar with little aluminum studs on it. I pull it out of the plastic, run my thumb over one of the bits of metal and my heart makes a thump.

I scrolled through page after page of various collars before I finally found this one. The site had some terrific products, but I was looking for something specific when I picked this one. I wanted this one because it was the only one on the site that so closely resembles a dog collar, with the standard metal ring for a leash to clip onto, but it also fastens like a belt buckle. All the others had industrial rings that didn’t really look anything like what I wanted.

Some even had multiple rings so that doms can hook multiple chains to them if they want, or a different kind of clasp, but what I am is a bitch in the bedroom, and this picky little bitch will only settle for a proper dog collar, nothing more, nothing less.

Some of what they had hardly looked like collars at all, and there were several of different types of material too, ranging from cloth to leather to even metal, but when I saw this one, I knew I’d found the one. Picking out a matching leash was a bit of a task too because we couldn’t decide if we wanted leather or chain links. Mack thought the leather might snap too easily if he yanked on it, so we ordered a metal one with the standard clip, but just like a dog leash it’s got the leather hand loop.

(Question: Is it still considered Pet Play if you’re using a collar and leash to slowly choke your boyfriend to death while you say dirty shit in his ear and rail into him hardcore from behind?)

But provided it fits I think the collar will be perfect though. Sometimes using a belt is problematic because it gets too tight and gets stuck on the buckle, so even if Mack lets up it’s still strangling me, and it’s a bitch to work it loose, but the collar will stay loose without any adjustment needed and I’ll still get that sub high from the feel of him pulling back on it. In theory. But we have to test it out first.

I really _really_ want to right now. Like I’m fucking _vibrating_ right now just from holding it in my hand, brushing the smooth, creamy leather with my thumb and imagining it in my head. “You wanna try it on, don’t you?” Mack asks me, and I nod frantically, biting my lip so hard I think it’s bleeding. “C’mere,” he says, waving me over to where he’s standing next to the couch, so I stand up, collar in hand, and hold it out to him.

I turn around, and my heart races when I feel him unbuckle it to slide it around my neck and then buckle it for me. I feel a tug, and a bit of pressure on my larynx, but not too much that I can’t breathe or anything. Just enough to know it’s there. “Too tight?” he asks me, and for a second I’ve gone non-verbal on him so all I can do is shake my head because I know if I open my mouth the only thing that will come out is a throaty moan in pleasure. My eyes fall shut.

“Fuck,” I hear him curse under his breath.

Evidently I look good with a collar around my neck, just like he suspected I would. It’s just loose enough still that he can easily slide it a little until the ring for the leash is lined up with my spine, then he loops his finger in it and tugs me back a little. Then the moan comes out. Fuck that feels good. Just that touch of pressure on my throat makes my dick jump between my legs and my breath catch too. “Damn,” I hear Mack mumble behind me. “You look good like this, baby. Real good.”

He reaches for the leash still in the box and I start to tremble when I hear the clink of metal chain links as they shift around inside the bag. He pulls it out, unraveling it, letting the plastic fall to the floor. My breath hitches when I feel him clip it to the collar. He wraps it around his hand and tugs me with it, harder this time, causing me to stumble a little and slam back against his solid chest, then he leans in to snatch my gauge between his teeth, making me freeze in place, heart pounding in my chest.

My breath quickens, and when he lets go he murmurs, “Fuck I love the sounds you make.”

I whimper a little. “You know if you take me back to the bedroom I’ll make all kinds of noise for you,” I say and he hums.

“Lead the way, baby,” he tells me. I smirk a little.

I start across the living room and head down the hallway, Mack a few steps behind me holding the leash like he’s walking a dog. But halfway there he stops and tugs on the leash again, making me choke on it and I glance behind me. “You’re such a dick,” I snicker at him, reaching back to swat at him, and he chuckles. I grab a hold of the leash and sling it over my shoulder, saying, “Come on,” then I yank on it, dragging us both to the bedroom, Mack laughing behind me.

“I thought I’m the one supposed to be walkin’ you?” he asks me.

“Have you ever tried to walk a pit bull?” I ask him. He snorts.

“Nah, but I feel like I’m walkin’ a mastiff right now.”

I bust out laughing at that. We get to the bedroom, Mack closes the door behind us, then flips the light on. Once we’re right next to the bed I relinquish control of the leash. I plan to let Mack be in charge from here on out. He turns me around, cups my face and kisses me. My hands slide up his forearms and grip them tightly. I can feel the cold metal of that chain against my neck and just everything about this feels fucking _perfect_ right now.

Oh yeah, this shit’s gonna get dirty.

I peck his lips a few times and murmur against his mouth, “Wanna see if you can get me to sit, roll over and play dead?”

He chuckles. “Well I’d see if you’re any good at beggin’, but we both know the answer to that.” He kisses deeper one last time, tongue swiping the back of mine a few times before he pulls away and says, “On your knees, baby.”

Oh I’m most happy to be, so I slowly sink down first to one knee, then both and stare up at him in wonder as he unbuckles his belt. It’s probably written all over my face how much I worship this man right here. He unbuttons then unzip his fly and my hands come up to work him free from his boxers. I feel his hand on the back of my head as I’m taking him in my mouth, one blessed inch at a time. Eventually I feel him rip the bandanna off my head to grip my hair and force my head down.

I gag a little the first time and it brings tears to my eyes. Above me I hear Mack groaning at the sight of me gagging on his dick and he starts fucking my mouth. I reach around to get a handful of that beautiful ass of his and pull him to me as he thrusts into my mouth. This, and with the feel of that collar around my neck is a whole new sensation I’ve never experienced. I can’t really describe how it feels but it’s kind of like I’m spacing out or something as I choke on his dick.

All of my body relaxes of tension and I let him hold me up with one hand in my hair, the other pulling on the leash as I take as much of it as I can before my hand comes up to push him back for a second so I can catch my breath. A few shaking breaths through my nose later and I’m back at it again, fucking hard and leaking with every jolt from my gag reflex, and now those too tight pants are a real fuckin’ problem.

I kind of want to let him come in my mouth if he can but he’s not wearing a condom. What I wouldn’t give to feel that cum trickle down my throat though. For sure, I would swallow, but we’ve never gotten around to discussing doing anything without a condom, and I’d rather not, just to be on the safe side. Eventually Mack pulls back completely and unclips the leash. “Won’t you get undressed and get on the bed for me,” he suggests and after finding my balance I rise to my feet.

Kind of feel light headed for a second, but I shrug it off and strip down, kicking my shoes off then working myself out of these godforsaken pants, then shirt and underwear next. Once I’m naked Mack clips the leash back on. I think he really likes it. More than just the collar by itself, I think he likes watch that leash dangle as I crawl across the bed and lay on my side and watch him undress. It will never get old seeing him pull that beater up over his head.

I think even when we’re old and gray I’ll still be attracted to that shit.

I force thoughts of us growing old together out of my head though.

I ain’t comfortable with those kind of thoughts still, and I’m not letting it ruin my good time either.

He joins me on the bed, rolls me onto my back and we spend some time just laying there, making out first, Mack grinding that rock hard dick against mine as my hands roam over his body. I start getting restless, wanting to fuck right now, throwing my leg over him and pulling him closer. He runs his hand down that leg, to my ass, then reaches to slide a finger right over my hole. “Mack, baby, you gotta fuck me right now or I’m gonna die,” I say, and he chuckles.

“You know I will.” He leans in right up close to my hear, and adds, “Just as soon as I hear you beg for it, baby, just like the helpless, pathetic little _bitch_ you are. So go on, baby, beg for it. Make it sound like you really are gonna die if you don’t get it.”

I seriously feel like I might. Man I love being with a guy that knows all my kinks by heart and knows just precisely what to say to get to me like that. It’s fucking amazing is what it is. I squirm beneath him, whining and simpering just like the bitch I’m totally being right now, and my voice adopts that same whining, pouting, child-like quality to it as I say, “Please, baby,” right in his ear as I nuzzle his cheek. “Please baby I need it. Fuck I want it _so bad_.”

That does the trick, because I know just what Mack likes to hear too. He groans a little then murmurs, “Goddamn baby, who could say no to that?”

Not Mack, that’s for sure.

He props himself up with his arms and pecks me with one last kiss before he’s moving away from me, toward the nightstand for condoms and lube, and I roll onto my stomach, then hoist myself up so I’m on my hands and knees. Time to put the new toys to the test and see if that shit actually works as a substitute for good old fashioned belt choking. I glance over my shoulder and watch him slip a condom on and flinch a little at the feel of cold lubricant on my ass. He opens his mouth.

“You want me to-”

“Nope.”

“No?”

I shake my head. “Nope,” I repeat. Nope, don’t need any fingering before hand. There’s something I’ve been looking forward to all fucking day and that’s the feel of Mack mercilessly stretching me wide open with his dick. I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about Mack hate fucking me that is unequivocal really. There’s no feeling quite like it. I hear him suck in a breath behind me, like he had a sudden random thought.

“You know you’re kinda fucked up, right?” he blurts out and I grin.

“Do I hear a complaint?” I ask and he chuckles at me.

“You won’t ever hear one from me, I’m just sayin’. There’s seriously somethin’ wrong with you.”

“You love it.”

“I…” He doesn’t finish that thought. There’s a pause, then a small bit of throat clearing, before Mack grabs my hips and pulls me back against him. “I do like it,” he finally says. “Like it a whole helluva lot actually. So what’s that say about me?”

That he’s perfect for me?

“That you’re just my kinda guy,” I say and nudge him impatiently with my ass. He huffs a little, but then the wait is finally over because I feel him grab the chain beside me. He lifts it up and slowly wraps it back around his hand so he doesn’t lose his grip on it. As he does so the tension slowly gets tighter and tighter ‘til I feel just a slight tug on my neck. He’s going to do what I think he’s going to do, isn’t he? Oh fuck my heart is pounding so hard right now in excitement!

As he’s holding the chain he lines himself up and rubs just the head of his dick over it first before he’s pushing in. I take deep breaths through my nose to relax as much as possible so he pops in with out ripping me open. It takes a minute or so before I feel that razor sharp zing of pain that makes me wince a little, but before I can really ground myself and come to terms with it he’s already sliding in, filling me up and oh fuck yes he yanks me backwards by the chain as he does!

He lifts me high enough that my hands come off the bed. Thank God for galvanized steel, am I right? I’m reaching up to grasp the collar as he slams into me and I’m shouting, “FUCK!”

“Damn,” he heaves breathlessly. “Maybe I should move some place more sound proof.”

I chuckle, but the sound is strained considering the collar’s pressing against my throat and I’m in so much pain right now I feel like I’m dying. I’m shaking all over and if not for Mack holding me up with the chain I would’ve collapsed. But so far from this angle it feels exactly like the belt, only instead of tightening around my whole neck, it just cuts off my air. It feels so fucking perfect and I’m already in that headspace so I beg, “Please, Mack, baby, fuck me! Fuck me hard! Like right now! Please!”

“Yessir,” he quips and proceeds to do just that. The pain from being stretched open so suddenly and being fucked so hard before even really getting the chance to get used to him inside me is fucking insurmountable. Like, I’m talking some American X prison rape type shit is what I’m going through right now, and it hits that part of my brain that wants to be abused like that, to be taken advantage of, and I imagine this is what it would feel like if Mack actually did rape me.

I’m clenching my teeth together to keep from screaming at the top of my lungs and already tears are starting to pour down my face from the agony. He just pounds into me, over and over, each thrust just as ruthless as the one before it, with no mercy whatsoever, as he pulls on that chain with all his strength. Until finally I can’t take it, so I snap my fingers, the signal to let go. With my other hand I reach out to catch myself as he immediately lets go of the chain and I start to fall forward.

I’m now on my forearms and he’s still railing into me, but his hand drops the chain to rest on my hip. I breathe. In. Out. In. Out. From this angle it feels incredible because now he’s hitting my prostate every single time he pounds into me, and the pain mixed with pleasure makes my orgasm start to build. Too much air. I don’t want to breathe. I need that collar tight. But I can’t make the words come out. So I reach behind me and tug on the loop.

It’s like Mack knows, because he reaches for the chain but holds it close to the clip and tugs back on it, not lifting me entirely but just lifting my head. I can still breathe but the feel of the collar pressing to my throat, mixed with the other pleasurable sensations is just what I needed and I’m close. So fucking close. Right on the verge of release. I’m shaking from head to toe and my mind is just starting to go in this kind of free fall state when suddenly I hear the most demeaning shit on the planet.

“You like that shit, don’t you bitch?” he growls. “Huh?” He jerks the chain. “You like bein’ treated like a piece of shit, you dirty little bitch? You fuckin’ cock suckin’ little slut? You nasty, dirty, miserable little whore? You’re fuckin’ pathetic, you know that? You fuckin’ _faggot_! Goddamn worthless piece of-”

Yeah he stops when he feels me come. His words definitely did the trick to tip me off the edge of that cliff. Actually you know what did it? It was hearing him call me a faggot. I never thought I’d find something I liked more than being called a bitch, but the way that word just rolled off his tongue, the way he legit sounded like some homophobic asshole, like he hates my guts and he’s only fucking me right now to hurt me, to demean me, and to emasculate the fuck out of me...

Like there was just something about it that hit the spot, metaphorically and literally, because now I’m squirting cum all over his sheets.

“Goddamn,” he curses again, but this time the word is stilted because he’s trembling. Like he’s so fucking turned on that he’s literally seconds from coming too. He’s breathing heavily now and I expect it at any moment, but he surprises me. Instead of railing me harder until he comes, he stops and pulls back, letting go of the chain and pulling out of me. Then he takes and flips me over. Suddenly he’s on me and kissing me like his life depends on it, gripping my hair and shoving his tongue down my throat.

I barely comprehend what’s happening when he reaches down, dick in hand, and shoves it in me, but this time we’re facing each other. He bends and contorts so he can kiss me while he fucks me, tearing his mouth and way and mumbling something, something like, “Fuck I lo-” But I didn’t catch what he actually said. He closes his mouth again and rails into me, pressing his face to the side of mine. “God-fucking-damn!” He punctuates his words with every thrust before he’s spilling into the condom.

He freezes in place as he throbs inside me, then his whole body just kind of melts on top of me, and he breathes a sigh into my hair.

My legs are bent so disproportionately and he fucked me so hard I think I broke a hip, but fuck that was awesome! Holy fucking shit! But pretty soon the high starts wearing off, I’m coming down from it, and when I wince a little and shift in discomfort Mack pulls out of me and sets my legs down on the bed. He’s still on top of me and he’s still kissing me, but now the touch is feather light and he smooths my hair away from my face where it’s matted with sweat.

He sighs. “Fuck that was…” He starts but doesn’t finish.

“Awesome? Amazing? Mind-blowing? Life changing? Or just like, the best sex you’ve ever had in your entire fucking life?”

“All of the above,” he chuckles and so do I. He reaches up to fondle the collar still around my neck. “So how’s it feel? Does it fit?” he asks, reminding me of why I put it on in the first place. Not actually to have sex or anything, but that’s ultimately what it led to because I’m sorry but you don’t just put a collar and a leash on a guy like me and not fuck me while I’m wearing it. I snort a little at his questions, then I shrug.

“I think I can get used to it,” I say. “And obviously I’m not the only one that likes it,” I add, and he nods.

“Yeah I kinda like havin’ you on a short leash,” he quips.

“Oh that was just horrible, Mack,” I sigh. He just grins at me because he knows how much I love his corny jokes. I gaze up at him, and I don’t know if it’s the sex or what it is, but I open my mouth, “Fuck I lo-” Oh fuck. Fuck! I close my mouth. I almost said it. Should I have said it? Mack’s staring down at me with this curious expression. Wondering what I was about to say. I swallow. “Fuck I love how much of a freak you are,” I say instead of what I almost said.

Like, shit. That would’ve been disastrous, right?

* * *

Later we go to Smoke’s house to chill for a few hours before I’m supposed to go out with Lee, and flop down on the couch next to Andy, while Smoke sits in his recliner, rolling a joint to pass around.

“The fuck are you wearin’, yo?” Andy asks me, scrunching up his face in confusion, eyes passing over me as I sit down. I glare at him as I’m resting my elbows on my knees. (Have yet to find myself crossing my legs or anything, so at least I haven’t fallen too far down that rabbit hole yet. That shit’s super uncomfortable anyway.) “Like for real man, you look fuckin’ gay as hell.”

Mack snorts beside me, and I’m rolling my eyes at Andy. “Newflash asshole: I _am_ gay.”

“Well yeah but I mean, like, you’re one of the good ones though.”

I feel Mack’s incredulous expression directed at Andy over my shoulder. “One of the good ones?” he repeats, and I raise my brows at Andy.

“Well you know what I meant,” he says. “Like, y’all ain’t those types, know what I mean? Like all girly an’ dramatic an’ shit. Like he ain’t some kinda whiny little bitch or somethin’.”

That goes to show what he knows, huh?

I know it’s coming even before I hear it and I clamp my hand over my mouth as I hear Mack’s low rumble of a chuckle that slowly gets louder and louder until it erupts into maniacal laughter.

“Why’s he laughin’ like that?” Andy asks, clueless still. “Like for real man, what’s he laughin’ for?”

I just pull my hand away and smile innocently at him.

“Oh no reason, man,” I say. “No reason at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	29. Offense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Not to sound like a douchebag, but these two kind of perpetuate a lot of shitty stereotypes, so I think it’s fucking crazy that even though they cuss like crazy and shit just the same as me and Lee, yet I’m the one that’s brow raising._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is use of the n word in this chapter due to depiction of characters and a discussion about racism and stereotyping.
> 
> ["Toxicity"–System Of A Down](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=mUEsqQpact0&feature=share)

So I pick Lee up at her apartment to drive us a couple of hours away to the restaurant we’re all meeting at to grab a bite to eat before we catch a movie. She looks fucking awesome. She’s wearing a black and red plaid button up over a white tank top with her skinny jeans and high tops, she curled her hair in this beach wave style and she’s wearing just a touch of make-up, thick black eyeliner and little bit of dark burgundy lipstick. I swear if I was straight I would fuck the shit out of her right now.

“Holy fucking shit!” I curse when she climbs in the passenger’s seat and her eyes widen.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” she frantically asks, checking herself in the mirror.

I laugh. “You look fucking _amazing_ , that’s what,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she chuckles, then playfully elbows me. “Thank you. You too, like, you look like a male model or something.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit. You look extremely fuckable right now. I bet Mack was all over you when he saw you.”

“...Maybe?” I say a bit cheekily and she grins.

I smile and shake my head, then pull onto the street, and then we take off down the road. She plugs her phone into the aux and we jam out to some Disturbed and other shit Lee’s got saved on her Spotify account, probably sounding like a couple of maniacs with the volume up high and singing loudly to all the songs because we know all the lyrics and shit. Yeah we’re idiots, and I fucking love it. We listen to music and bullshit about random things for the two hour drive.

When we get there, I find an empty parking spot, then Lee gets out and texts Nay to let her know we’re here. So far, from what Lee has told me about her, she’s pretty awesome too. Nay is actually short for Chardonnay, she and her brother are originally from Detroit, and not only does she like a lot of rap and hip hop and shit, but she actually raps too. I’ve heard Soundcloud clips of that shit and it’s pretty good. It’s never been my thing really, but I can still appreciate talent when I hear it.

Her brother is kind of like her business agent and helps to promote all her music. They’ve amassed quite the following already, even though she’s only been at it for like two or three years, and in this part of the country there just aren’t as many people interested in that kind of thing, which just means she directs her attention more to social media and online promotion. She’s really nice and really outgoing, with a great sense of humor, but you know what I like about her the most?

She fucking respects the shit out of Lee. Like, for real, she’s a gentlewoman. She’s always opening the door for Lee when they go to class, she talks respectfully to her, and she doesn’t expect Lee to change anything about herself. Lee can be herself around Nay. She doesn’t care that Lee listens to rock music, doesn’t care that she doesn’t smoke cigarettes or really drink all that much, doesn’t care that she doesn’t dress like a slut, and definitely doesn’t mind that Lee wants to take things slow.

They’ve been on a couple of dates now, but this is the first time they’re introducing any of their friends or family to one another. Rashad is kind of like a two-for-one special since not only is he her best friend, but also her brother. Me, I’m introduced as Lee’s cousin and best friend, we all shake hands and shoot the breeze for a while in the parking lot before we head inside and grab a table. So far I like them both. I definitely appreciate that Rashad doesn’t mind that his sister’s a lesbian.

I don’t know how they feel about me yet though. I’m kind of an ass. I’m not a racist piece of shit, but I’m kind of opinionated on occasion, like when it comes to certain topics, and some of the things I say make their brows go up and they’re like, “Whoa,” chuckling in disbelief. Which is crazy? Because I know I’m an asshole, but I think it’s kind of ironic that they’re so shocked by my behavior when Rashad and Nay both say the n word like every other word.

Not to sound like a douchebag, but these two kind of perpetuate a lot of shitty stereotypes, so I think it’s fucking crazy that even though they cuss like crazy and shit just the same as me and Lee, yet _I’m_ the one that’s brow raising. I guess maybe it’s because they know I’m gay, and I’m not anything like they assumed I would be. Not that they thought I would be some politically correct, puppy loving vegan, (I do love puppies though) but you get my point, right?

Like, I’m pretty the first twenty-eight chapters gave you fairly good idea of how fucked up I am.

Lee thinks it’s fucking hilarious and is low-key chuckling behind her hand. But I swear, Lee and Nay together is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. She’s so much brighter and happier around Nay than she ever was with Sam. When she was dating/fucking Sam she was always so quiet, and maybe _we_ might talk about stuff, but Sam would always bulldoze right over top of Lee in conversation, a lot like how Justin treats me. Like, I drew a lot of parallels between our two relationships.

But she’s way more outgoing around Nay, and way more herself around her than she ever was with her rude, selfish, conceited, and flaky bitch of an ex. I love seeing Lee happy like this. It gets me thinking for a moment, wondering if it’s possible. Like, if I could ever be brave enough like Lee to reach out and grab what I want like that. Like, I’m half wondering if I could ever make an actual relationship with Mack work like that.

But as soon as the thought pops in my head I do my best to shove it out.

I _have_ to. I can’t dwell on shit that can never be. So for the first time in fucking forever, my leg starts bouncing a little under the table because I’m bottling my thoughts about Mack and shoving them aside. Lee glances down for a second, then glances at me. She doesn’t say anything though. Just pinches her lips together and gives me this look like she knows something’s wrong, and really wants to help, but doesn’t know what to say or do about it. “I’m gonna go for a smoke,” I say.

I politely excuse myself from the table and head outside. Fuck! I don’t want them to think I’m irritated because I don’t like Nay and Rashad. They seem like real good people actually, and Lee’s happiness is my happiness. And even if I can never have what I want out of life, then at least I can feel better knowing that someone I care about gets to have good things. I walk about twenty feet away from the entrance and light up a cigarette, taking a drag, then scratching my brow in thought.

The door to the restaurant swings open and I turn to see Rashad stepping outside. He sees me and comes to join me where I’m standing a reasonable distance from the doors and smoking, lighting up one of his own and he walks up to me. He’s a handsome motherfucker, I’ll say that about him. Like, I know Lee had her cracks about me looking like a model, but this guy _seriously_ looks like he should be on the cover of a magazine. Like he is grade A fucking spank bank material.

He’s very lean, but in his mid thirties so he doesn’t have that cut abdomen like most of us have purely by design when we’re younger, before our metabolism slows way the fuck down and we stop looking like Greek gods. I think it’s cute, the way he’s got just a touch of stomach on him. He’s got that whole “dad bod” thing going on. He’s about my height, maybe an inch or so shorter, and he’s got a fade. A few tattoos on his arms, and maybe he has more, but his dress shirt covers them up.

These sexy diamond earrings in his ears. (I’m torn between wanting to lick them, and ask him where he got them so I can snag a pair for myself) I don’t actually know if he’s gay, bi, straight or what, Lee never said, and neither has he nor his sister indicated which way his door swings. But yeah he’s cute. Too short for me, but cute. He takes a long drag off his cigarette and we’re quiet for a moment, having really nothing to talk about without Lee or Nay as a buffer I guess.

I pull out my phone and scroll through Facebook Messenger until I find my conversation with Mack. I’m just about to text him when Rashad pipes up beside me.

“So, uh, Lee said you’re into guys an’ shit, that right?”

His tone is too neutral for me to predict where this conversation is going, but instinctively I bristle. Old habit for the hair to raise on the back of my neck when someone mentions that I’m gay. It’s kind of annoying too that it’s _all_ they focus on. Why not ask me about my shirt? Or any article of clothing? My hairstyle? My preference in music? Where I went to school or if I went to college? Why does that shit always have to start and end with, “So you’re a fag, huh?” Once people find out that shit?

I don’t get the vibe that he’s homophobic, but I don’t know him all that well yet. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Something like, “What the fuck Lenny! You said he doesn’t care if his sister’s a lesbian! Why are you thinking he might be homophobic?” But let me just take a second to explain to you how the average male brain works, okay? You see, there are _some_ men that are okay with two women going at it, but _aren’t_ okay with two dudes going at it. Especially a lot of straight guys.

They don’t find other men attractive, therefore they find our intimate acts disgusting. But they _are_ attracted to women, and seeing two women naked is okay. Seeing them make out is even better. They find it erotic. Two naked dudes making out on the other hand is vomit inducing. So, by that association, men can be okay with lesbians but not be okay with gays. Got it? Anyway, he’s not giving me that vibe, but I’m cautious still, and I narrow my eyes.

“Yeah, I’m a fag, why?” I ask, and once more his brows raise at me.

He snorts a little and asks, “Did you really jus’ say that about yo self?”

“Say what? You asked if I’m gay, I said yeah. So what about it?”

He chuckles. “Nah, I meant why do you _demean_ yo self like that?”

“Huh?”

“You just called y’self a _fag_ , yo.”

“Oh.” I scratch my head. “For real?” He nods. Well, shit. I mean damn, I’m so used to using that word and hearing it in conversation that I guess I don’t even notice anymore that I’m using it. “Ah, well, I mean I _am_ gay so…” I shrug a little and take another puff on my cigarette. Rashad keeps looking at me like I did something so unbelievable though. Like, mouth hanging open and everything. “So, yeah, I’m a fag, what’s your fuckin’ point?”

“Okay…” He takes a breath. “It’s just…I mean, wow. Like, for real, you just lay that shit on thick, don’t you? No brain to mouth filter, huh?” Nope. I just say what I say. This is why I used to keep that shit bottled up around Justin. “But seriously, man, like, why do you use that word so interchangeably like that?” he asks. “I mean they ain’t exactly the same thing, ya know what I’m sayin’? And ya know you callin’ yo self that word just gives other people permission to call you that shit, right?”

I blink slowly, like I’m bored. Then I take another drag off my cigarette.

“Right,” I mumble, cigarette hanging out of my mouth as I speak. “Uhm, lemme ask you somethin’,” I say, straightening my stance and turning to face him, flicking the ashes off my cigarette. “I don’t mean to sound like a dick or anything but…like, why do you refer to yourself and other people as ‘nigga’?” He leans his head back in kind of a nod when I say that. “I mean, referring to yourself and others with a slang term that has very racial tones is rather diminutive and just perpetuates a stereotype.”

He bobs his head a little and puffs his cigarette. “Oh I see how it is. Nah, see it ain’t _even_ the same thing, man. Not even close. This ain’t like some race shit right here. You callin’ yo self a fag is definitely _not_ the same thing as me bein’ a nigga.”

“See you just did it again,” I point out. “You just called yourself a word that perpetuates a racial stereotype, and you make it seem like it’s perfectly okay for other people to say that shit too.”

“Nah,” he denies, shaking his head. “Nah, see _you_ can’t say that. You’re white, yo. Me, I’m a black man. I can say that shit all day. But associating fag with just meaning gay is tellin’ other people _regardless_ of orientation that it’s okay if they call you a fag. But see, when _they_ say it, they ain’t meanin’ it the same way _you_ are. When they say it, the word has _intention_ behind it. And those intentions are a personal attack on you and your way of life. To them it ain’t just a word, it’s the same as punchin’ in you in the face.”

“Why’s that though?” I shrug, and he blinks rapidly in confusion. “I mean why ain’t it just a word? You remember that grade school rhyme, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me?’ Any word in the English language can become offensive if there’s _meaning_ put behind it. The word faggot didn’t even used to be a derogatory for homosexuals. The original meaning of the word was ‘a bundle of sticks’. But the meaning _changed_.” I snort. “Now it means a bundle of dicks.”

Rashad chokes on his cigarette smoke when he laughs, and coughs for a second or two.

“Anyway my point is,” I continue, snuffing out my cigarette on the bottom of my shoe, then stuffing it in my pack so I’m not littering, because that’s just a dick move, “That you are very correct to say that words can change with their intentions just as easily as they change meaning, and while I myself don’t particularly find it all that offensive to hear it, doesn’t necessarily mean it isn’t still offensive to _say_ it, because though I mean it as a term indicating that I’m gay, others might mean it offensively. _But_ …”

Rashad waits expectantly for the rest.

“With that being said,” I say, “I do have the power to _choose_ whether or not I find certain terminology offensive when in use. Therefore I can simply choose _not_ to be offended when some white trash redneck piece of shit calls me a fuckin’ fag. I’m aware of the intention behind it, but I’m _also_ capable of changing the meaning behind it if I want, just the same as anyone else. I could just as easily influence others to mean it as gay as the word ‘happy’ ended up meaning homosexual.

It’s really just a play on the English language. But your use of the term ‘nigga’ on the other hand has very different origins, and a very different meaning in context. I mean that’s not a description of orientation man, that’s a fuckin’ crack on you bein’ black, which is kinda fucked up, don’t ya think? Yours is a beautiful, astounding culture that has influenced so much of society, with a rich tapestry of bravery and struggle, full of profound individuals like MLK and Rosa Parks, and that’s fucking amazing.

But with one word you have managed to reduce yourself to every gang member, drug dealer, and drive by shooter you see in some episode of Cops or some shit. When you’re _not_. You’re a business man, with a college education and a very talented sister on top of that, but when I hear you call yourself that I don’t see it. The only way you should _ever_ be judged is by how you treat others, whether it’s with respect or kindness or not, and not by whether or not your black…

Me? I don’t really give a fuck what you are or what you call yourself. I’m color blind, so for all I know you could be fuckin’ purple or some shit, so who gives a fuckin’ rats ass what you do. But obviously _you_ see yourself as some type of way. So lemme ask you, why do _you_ demean _yourself_ like that?”

Rashad stares at me for a minute, then puts out his cigarette on the pavement.

I just keep my arms folded (Since my pants are too tight to shove my hands in my pockets. Fuck these tight ass fucking pants!) And I wait patiently for whatever the fuck he’s got to say about that shit.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he says. “I don’t really know how to take all that?” He laughs, and I smirk a little. “But you ain’t racist though I guess, so you got that goin’ for you.” He looks me up and down for a second. “But you are kind of a’ asshole about that shit though.”

“Fair enough. I’m a piece of fuckin’ trailer trash with a third rate education, man. I’m covered in ink, I never went to college, and I smoke pot. People are still gonna judge me no matter what I do, but at least I ain’t gotta let them judge me for bein’ a fag on top of it,” I shrug. He sighs at me.

“So you really don’t find that shit offensive?” I shake my head. “Alright, what’s somethin’ you _do_ find offensive?”

I think about it. “Well, I’d say if somebody called me a punk ass little bitch, I guess.”

He chuckles. “Alright, alright, that’s what’s up. Well, just keep in mind then that every time somebody calls you a fag, _that’s_ what they’re meanin’ by it. They’re callin’ you a punk ass lil bitch, know what I’m sayin’?”

I nod. “Yeah I get that. Fine, I’ll make you a deal then. I won’t call myself a fag if you stop callin’ yourself the n word an’ shit, how’s that sound?”

He snorts. “Alright deal.” We fist bump on that shit, but then he adds, “We ain’t gonna stop callin’ ourselves that shit when we get home, are we?”

“Eh, probably not, no,” I shake my head and so doe he, still chuckling at me.

Lee and Nay come outside the restaurant and join us out front. “Hey, what have you guys been talking about?” Lee asks us, brushing her hair out of her eyes when a gust of wind blows it in her face. I shrug a little.

“I’m gay and he’s black,” I say, and their eyes widen.

“Nah seriously what y’all been talkin’ about?” Nay asks Rashad. He glances back and forth between the two of us, then gestures vaguely.

“He’s gay and I’m black.”

Nay and Lee snort at us, almost in disbelief. “Nah for real though,” Nay starts. “Y’all have been out here talkin’ for fifteen minutes, and _all_ you’ve talked about is that he’s gay and you’re black.”

We share a look. “Yup,” we quip, like at the exact same time.

“Y’all are some fuckin’ crazy ass motherfuckers,” she says, shaking her head. I smile at Rashad, and he shoots me a little nod.

Yeah, I like him a lot. He’s 100% A-okay by me.

Of course he probably thinks I'm an ass still.

But I don’t take offense to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	30. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I kind of want to just fuck him immediately, but we should definitely set some kind of boundaries first, because just straight up diving head first into the non-con pool is really fucking dangerous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Rape Me"–Nirvana](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=-bv6sOmMslc&feature=share)

I pull up in front of my apartment, kill the lights, turn off the engine, then just relax in my seat with a faint smile on my face. The whole night hanging out with Lee, Nay and Rashad was just fucking fantastic. The food was great, the movie was great, and then afterwards all of us hung out in the parking lot for almost an hour longer just talking about things. I’ve even given some thought to the conversation Rashad and I had about the casual use of the word ‘fag’.

You know I’m thinking he might be right? And I’m also reconsidering my use of the word so loosely in conversation. Like, maybe that could be why Mack calling me ‘faggot’ during sex was such a huge turn-on, because subconsciously I do take offense to that word, and my brain registers that shit as demeaning in some way, even if outwardly I express otherwise. (But whether or not I ask Mack to stop calling me that during sex is a way different issue, still up for debate.)

But I’m thinking about how awesome it was to hang out with some really cool people, and just how fucking great it was to see that huge smile never leave Lee’s face because Nay just makes her so happy, that I don’t even realize I’m still smiling until I get to the front door, pull out my key, unlock it, and step inside. I realize I’ve been smiling only because the second I walk through that door, the smile is gone. My happy, cheery feeling is ripped away from me, and replaced by my shitty reality.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” screeches the source of all my misery, who’s been sitting on the couch, waiting up for me, as I walk in the living room. “It’s two o’clock in the morning, Lenny!”

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Oh yeah, yeah my feel good moment _definitely_ crashed the second I heard that bitchy tone of voice.

Crazy thing is, I’ve actually been trying to get along with Justin lately? I guess you could say I’m conducting an experiment. I kind of wanted to see if things would actually change if I tried doing some of those things Justin says he wants from me in therapy, more or less because I’m curious if it would actually change anything, or if Justin’s just making up excuses as to why it’s not working out, and just needs there to be a problem. Results are inconclusive.

One night I stopped at the grocery store after work to cash my paycheck, get a money order for the rent and pick up some things Justin asked for, and I had a few dollars left over so I snagged a bouquet of flowers. I don’t what kind of flowers they were, I’m no florist, but they were yellow. I was even planning on cooking Justin’s favorite meal for him that night, to make it extra special. I got through the door, smiling, holding the flowers behind my back, but Justin was already bitching at me.

Kind of hard to be romantic to someone that’s screaming at you and jutting their finger in your face. Seeing the flowers only made it worse. We proceeded to get in a heated argument that ended with dishes being broken and those poor innocent flowers being ripped to pieces. Evidently a bouquet of…tulips? Yeah I think they were tulips. Evidently tulips were not what Justin meant when he said I should be more romantic.

“I meant I wanted you to be more affectionate, Lenny!” he bitched. “Instead of just shutting me out all the fucking time! Like be more passionate when we have sex! And don’t just pay attention to me only when you want to fuck! Take me out to places! Hold my hand in public! Actually be my fucking boyfriend! You can’t just buy me things and expect it to fix everything!”

He was right, buying stupid shit like flowers and candy or presents is not gonna fix shit in your relationship if the underlying issues aren’t resolved, but I was only trying to prove a point, and Justin did it for me. I did something nice, and Justin shit all over my effort. Needless to say we didn’t resolve our issues that day, and I have a feeling tonight is just going to be the same. “Why the fuck are you on my case?” I ask him. “You _knew_ I was going out with Lee tonight.”

Justin opens his mouth to speak, but just blinks a couple of times and closes it, like he’s scratching out whatever thought popped in his head. “You know what, it’s been a long day, and I really don’t feel like fighting with you tonight. Let’s just…let’s just go to bed.”

Fine by me. I kick my shoes off, set my keys, cigarettes and phone on the coffee table and I’m just about to strip the rest of the way down to fall to the couch and pass out, when Justin takes me by the hand. “Come to bed,” he tells me. Or…asks me? His tone is quiet for a change, almost gentle like, and he doesn’t look mad or anything. He starts tugging me toward the bedroom, biting his lip a little. Uh-oh. I know that look. Somebody wants to get laid.

This is why he was waiting up for me. You know we haven’t actually had sex in fucking forever now? Like, not since I found out he’s fucking around with Mark. Either he’s tired, I’m tired, or we’re fighting and I just end up crashing on the couch. But there’s always an excuse to make. But evidently jerking it when he can’t drag Mark away from his wife just isn’t cutting it for him right now, and he wants some actual human interaction.

My heart pounds and I feel this creepy crawly feeling settle over me as he leads me back to the bedroom, closes the door, then starts kissing me. Like, I start feeling that weird sensation that I’m cheating on Mack. Which is crazy because it’s the opposite. But I feel like I’m breaking some sort of code here. I don’t know how many times I can get away with denying Justin sex before he starts to wonder if I’m getting it from someone else, so I give in and let him kiss me.

I feel absolutely nothing. I used to. Sometimes, when Justin would kiss me or touch me a certain way, it was a turn-on. But now? Nothing. Not even a spark of action down south, if you catch my drift. Just like kissing a girl. Matter of fact, that’s _exactly_ what it feels like. Justin’s so much shorter than me and smaller, and his too soft hands on my neck, his lips touching mine, feels like I’m kissing a chick. His body pressing against me and his moan in my mouth does absolutely nothing for me.

Justin doesn’t really seem to notice though, as he pushes my shirt up over my head, then unbuckles my belt. We strip down and climb into bed, kissing and touching, all the usual preamble with sex, but I still can’t get it up. I would claim exhaustion because Mack nailed me hard earlier, but I know that if it was him touching me like this I would be hard as a rock right now. But I’m not. But we lay down, I’m on top of him and we’re making out, Justin writhing beneath me.

I leave his mouth to trail down his neck and chest with kisses and I notice his eyes are closed. I know who he sees in his mind and it isn’t me. I would feel jealous, but I know who I picture when we have sex, so I can’t bring myself to really care all that much if he’s imagining Mark. I try to do the same, try to picture his brother in my head, but this time around, instead of getting turned on, I just feel this sickness in my stomach when I think about Mack.

This isn’t what I want.

This isn’t what I want _at all._

I go down on Justin, but despite the fact that there’s a half hard dick twitching to life my mouth, I still can’t manage an erection. It’s starting to get aggravating, and I don’t know if it’s my guilty conscience over Mack, Justin’s lack of any sort of attentiveness during, or what it is, but I just can’t muster any interest. A random thought pops in my head of that day our therapist said we should try new things in the bedroom, and I wonder if I should just ask Justin to fuck me.

I know I’m still partially recovering from getting a pounding earlier, but it’s been long enough that I could handle another round, and I’m curious as to what Justin would actually say. He said he didn’t want to fight right now, he just wants to have sex, so maybe if I can get him to fuck me, maybe that will get me up and I can return the favor. Maybe now is the time to finally negotiate switching. Because otherwise, sex is very unlikely to happen right now.

“Justin?” I say when I pop my head up and he whines at me.

“Oh now what?” he huffs at me, open his eyes to look down at where I’m resting between his thighs. “What’s wrong?” I take a breath.

“I…was just wondering if maybe…could we switch?”

He gives me this look like I’ve gone crazy, cocking his head to the side and lifting a brow. “Switch? Like…you mean me fuck you?” he asks and I nod.

“Yeah, I just…” I attempt to word this in a way that will make sense, but not make it sound too much like sex with him is just god awful and run the risk of pissing him off. I glance down and let my fingers gently brush his thigh where they rest. “I was just thinking about, you know, how Miss Michelle said we should try new things together? And I was just thinking that maybe…I don’t know, maybe we could change it up a little?”

Apparently what I said has the opposite effect of what I was going for because he sighs at me and moves to sit up a little on his elbows. “I don’t think switching positions was what she meant, Lenny,” he says. “She meant other things like more foreplay or a different approach to sex. Not me sticking my dick in you.” I guess the disappointment is showing on my face because he groans and rolls his eyes at me. “I don’t get it, what’s wrong with what we do now? I thought you liked it.”

No. Justin likes it. We do things this way because Justin wants it that way. Not because I do.

“I just thought we could do something different this time, that’s all.”

He grumbles under his breath in frustration before sitting up completely, and so I sit back on my calves. “Lenny, you know I don’t really like penetrating. That’s never really been my thing. Can’t we just…I don’t know, maybe use a plug instead?”

“You know that’s not the same thing,” I tell him. “Like, it’s not even close.”

Granted, it's pleasurable, but its not fair that Justin gets to have a dick and I don't.

“Lenny,” he groans.

“I don’t even get what the big deal is,” I say. “What’s so bad about you topping for a change? I mean fuck, we’re guys, that’s what we do. Why can’t we switch that shit up? Other guys do it all the time.”

“Oh fine then!” he snaps. “Why don’t you go out and find one those _other guys_ to fuck you then! You’re such a fucking asshole! Just because other men like to do it, doesn’t mean every guy likes to do it, Lenny! And I _really_ don’t like you _pushing_ that shit on me right now. Like, it seriously makes me uncomfortable! Why can’t you just respect that about me?” The whole while he’s bitching at me I can’t help but feel like he would totally say yes if _Mark_ asked him to fuck him.

I’m seconds from blurting that shit out, but somehow I manage to hold it in.

Find another guy, he tells me.

Wouldn’t he be thrilled to know I already did.

“What I don’t understand is why you can’t respect my wishes and try to understand my needs, yet you expect _me_ to do that shit for _you_ ,” I say. “That’s a little one sided, don’t you think?”

“Oh don’t you _even_ make this about you!” Justin growls at me. “That’s all this is, isn’t it? You just wanted an excuse to pick a fight with me right now just to be a fucking dick! You never think about what I want, do you? It’s just about you getting your way!”

Once again, with that projecting shit.

Instead of getting pissed, I just sigh a little. I’m learning to let go of my anger whenever Justin bitches at me like this, and just speak my mind without snapping completely, so I’m really proud of myself when I manage to say calmly, “Alright then.” Then I get up and scrounge for my shorts. Justin flips out.

“What the fuck are you going?!” he shrieks as I’m grabbing the door handle. I pause and turn back.

“I’m sorry Justin, but I just can’t deal with you when you’re like this,” I say with a shrug. Throwing his favorite phrase to me right back in his face. His mouth drops open, like how dare I say that to him. “And you speaking to me with that tone of voice is kind of killing the mood and I honestly don’t even feel like having sex with you anymore, so I’m just gonna go crash on the couch.” I hear him bitching at me in response as I leave the bedroom, but I’m not even listening anymore.

“–You’re fucking unbelievable! You selfish fucking bastard! You just–”

Blah, blah, blah. I go to the couch, flop down on it with a sigh, plug in my headphones and watch YouTube on my phone until I pass out.

* * *

Several days later I’m laying on Mack’s chest on the couch in his living room, and I’m still thinking about that argument with Justin about us switching. I haven’t said a word about it to Mack though. I feel weird talking about intimate details of my relationship, and whether or not Mack is ever actually jealous, I know I would be jealous if Mack ever talked about other dudes, so I keep my mouth shut. But I can’t stop turning those thoughts over in my head.

“Mack?”

“Huh.”

“Would you ever want to switch?” I ask him, granting me another ‘huh’, this time in question.

“Switch what exactly?”

“In bed,” I say.

“Ah. So you mean switch, like, you fuckin’ me instead?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh…” I feel him shift around, so I sit up on my elbows so I can look at him and see that he’s scratching the back of his head, thinking. He doesn’t look mad, or upset in anyway, just thoughtful, like he’s mulling it over. Then he runs a hand over his beard. “Nah? Not really,” he ultimately decides. “I mean we can if you want to, but I ain’t really into that shit.” Wait, did I hear that correctly? Mack would let me fuck him if I wanted to, like, just because I wanted? “Did you want to?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I like you being on top. I was just curious.”

And now I have my answer. Sometimes I still have trouble wrapping my head around how different he is from his brother. Like, they’re polar opposites in nearly every way. Not only does he give me what I need that I can’t get from Justin, but he’s willing to do things he doesn’t really like, just if he thought I would like it, or it would make me happy? He quirks a brow at me, curious still. “Well, alright then. So, where did that come from, exactly?” he asks me. “Why were you curious if I’d ever want to?”

I shrug a little.

“I just got to thinking, and I mean…You’re always up for pretty much anything I want, like whatever I want to do, no questions asked, and I just…” I sigh. “I just wondered if maybe there was anything you wanted, you know? Like, maybe you just didn’t want to ask because you thought it would be weird or something, but you should know that you _can_. Like, any time, or if there’s anything you want to do, or to try, like I would be up for it. Just saying.”

“Alright?” he says, jerking his head in a slight nod, but he’s still looking at me with that confused face, eyes alight with curiosity and I just nod a little. I lay my head back down, he hugs me tighter, and we’re both quiet for a minute. But I kind of can’t help but wonder if there _is_ anything Mack would ever want to try, and that nagging thought is eating away at me, so I pop my head back up.

“I _mean_ that,” I say. “Anything you want to do. Anything at all.”

“I got that the first time, baby,” he chuckles.

“Okay but like… _is_ there anything?” I prompt, and he just blinks slowly at me. “Anything you want to try? You can tell me.”

“Ah, well…not really? I mean…I love everything we do already.”

“Okay you say ‘not really’. That’s not exactly a yes or a no, Mack.”

He breathes a sigh. His blank expression shifts to something akin to mild irritation, or maybe just frustration I guess? But he’s turning something around in his head and I’m way too curious now, so I sit up on the couch and stare down at him. “Like, if you’ve got something on your mind, something you’ve thought about, you can just tell me. Shit, odds are pretty likely I’m into it too,” I add with a chuckle. Because so far, our twisted pleasures seem fairly evenly matched.

He sits up a little and rests his back against the armrest of the couch, running a hand through his hair. I’ve never seen Mack look uncomfortable like this before, almost like he’s kind of embarrassed, and when I see that flustered look on his face, I know whatever he tells me next, it’s gonna be good. Like, it’s gonna be some pretty twisted shit. The kind of shit that maybe he thinks might be too fucked up even for someone like me.

He folds his arms across his chest, then nods again, like he’s made his mind up about something. “Alright. There’s…there’s somethin’ I’ve thought about, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He folds his arms and lets his eyes pass over me for a minute. Whatever this is, he’s still hesitant to share, which tells me this is some serious shit. I’m on the edge of my seat, figuratively speaking. Okay maybe literally too. But finally he opens his mouth. “Well, it ain’t really all that different from what we’ve _been_ doin’, it just…” He clears his throat. “It just kinda…kinda plays out differently in my head, that’s all.”

“Okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “I just kinda have this thought in my head of…of you taking me from behind, but…regardless of whether or not you actually want to.” I watch his throat bob when he swallows. “You know, like whether you’re actually willin’? And…and in my head...sometimes you ain’t always willin’.”

I take a second to process that.

Oh…Oh! I think I understand what he’s talking about. “You mean like that shit is forced?” I ask, and he nods.

Holy shit.

I mean holy fucking SHIT!

Mack has a rape fantasy about me?!

Goddamn! Somebody fucking pinch me, please!

He looks kind of embarrassed to admit to that shit, but I get why, because forced sex is a lot different from rough sex. I’ve never had a doubt in my mind that if there was something I’m not okay with, that Mack would stop doing it if I asked him to, but what he presents to me now is the kind of shit that you really _do_ need safewords for, and my heart his frantically racing in my chest. I can’t help but smirk just a little at his bashfulness to admit he fantasizes about raping me.

God he’s just so fucking adorable right now.

“You wanna rape me?” I ask, and I see him chew his bottom lip contritely.

“I wouldn’t really,” he tells me. “I ain’t like that, but…but yeah. Sometimes I think about that kinda shit. Kinda fucked up, ain’t it?”

Oh yes. Yes it is _so_ fucked up and I have _never_ been more in love with this man than I am right now. “Yeah that shit’s pretty fucked up,” I chuckle, but he doesn’t take my banter lightly. He still looks pretty embarrassed about that shit, and I don’t think he’s really caught on just yet that I’m into that shit too. My smile widens and I crawl into his lap, straddling him. “So you just wanna take that shit, huh?” I ask, leaning down, close to his ear. My hands slide up his chest.

“Pin me down, watch me struggle, and just fuck the shit outta me?” I feel his breath quicken, feel him shift around, getting turned on. I drop my voice to a low murmur, and add, “Maybe let me fight you a little? Even try to escape? But you know there’s no escape for me, there’s no stopping it, is there?” He keens a little, and grips my thighs tightly, fingers digging into me. “That’s what you want, ain’t it? You don’t just wanna make me beg for more, do you? You wanna hear me beg you to _stop_.”

I lean in and suck on his ear lobe a little. “You wanna hear me say, ‘No, please don’t. Please, Mack, you’re hurting me’,” And at that I feel him fucking throbbing in his jeans like he could get off just listening to this shit. Just hearing me describe it to him. I make sure to put a little _extra_ whine in my voice when I grind up on him and say, “Please stop. Please just let me go, I’ll do anything,” And at that, Mack reaches up to yank my head back and stare up at me in disbelief.

“Goddamn, baby,” he curses, breathing heavily. “You’re really into that kinda shit, aren’t you?”

“Hell fucking yes I am,” I sigh. His eyes widen.

“Damn. I mean I knew you liked it rough, and you kinda like all that sadistic shit, but I never thought…But you really... you wanna...?”

All I can do is nod, and Mack pulls me in for a rough kiss. I kind of want to just fuck him immediately, but we should definitely set some kind of boundaries first, because just straight up diving head first into the non-con pool is really fucking dangerous. I mean I know what I can handle, and I know there’s really no limit to how far I’d let Mack go with this, but I pull away to say, “We should probably, like, set some kinda limits though, before we actually do it,” In between kissing.

“Yeah, yeah, I think we should,” he murmurs. “But you’d seriously let me fuck you like that?”

“Fuck yes,” I groan, moving from his mouth to his jaw with kissing, loving the feel of his facial hair scratching my lips and chin. “So like if I fight back, is there anything that would piss you off?”

“No head shots,” he says. “Or kidney shots. And _please_ don’t kick me in the nuts.”

“Same,” I agree.

“Can I tie you up?”

“Hell yes. Do whatever you want, just don’t leave any kind of marks and shit. Like, no permanent damage.”

“You got it.” He pulls back a little. “Wait, there ain’t anythin’ that would make you snap, is there?”

“No,” I shake my head. “No you couldn’t _possibly_ make me snap. No way in hell.”

“You sure about that?” I nod vehemently. No, there is _nothing_ Mack could do or say that would piss me off to the point that I’m out of control like that, like how I was when I beat the shit out of Calvin Hayes that night out at Smoke’s house. Mack could never push my buttons like that.

“If I change my mind about shit, I’ll just say ‘raven’,” I tell him. He nods.

“And if you can’t talk?” he asks me.

“I’ll snap my fingers.”

“And if you can’t use your hands?”

Well, damn. What does Mack have in mind then, exactly?

I chuckle a little. “Then I guess I’ll have no choice but to _take_ that shit, huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m bein’ serious Len. This kinda shit ain’t no joke. And if you’re _really_ needin’ me to stop-”

“Mack,” I interrupt, looking him in the eye. “You know me well enough to know if I _actually_ needed you to stop. But considering what’s about to happen, the odds of me _wanting_ you to stop are slim to none. But if you don’t wanna do that shit, it’s fine. Don’t feel like you have to just ‘cause that’s what I want.” He stares at me for a minute, considering everything I just said. “So won’t you take me back to that bedroom and fucking take that shit prison style, baby.”

I waggle my brows suggestively, grinning. He snorts at that, like I’m fucking ridiculous. Then finally he sighs. “Alright then.”

Fucking finally! My ass is about to get pseudo raped! Fuck yes!

Again, _why_ am I not in a relationship with this guy, exactly? (Oh wait, yeah, I remember now.) I mean for real he’s fucking perfect for me!

I’m _so_ glad I opened my mouth, because this is _just_ the sort of kink negotiation I needed in my life.

Y’all better strap yourselves in tight for this shit.

’Cause I’m about to be fucked in like the _worst_ way.

And I can’t fucking wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	31. Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The last thing we need is for the sheriff’s department to come knocking on the door, then have to sit there and explain to the deputy no, we weren’t actually fighting, we’re secretly gay, fucking around behind his brother’s back, and I asked him to rape me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was delayed, but I got distracted by some shit and couldn't write it. I really wanted to be sure it's perfect too because it's _really_ super important to me. This is a chapter I've been planning on posting since I first started writing this story. I hope you guys enjoy it because all the previous kink scenes have been building up to this one right here.
> 
> Chapter Song: ["Closer"–Nine Inch Nails](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=JTvNVxk1WnU&feature=share)

I move to get off his lap but he holds me in place, fingers digging into my hips as he pins me there, and the second I feel that too hard grip, I know it’s begun.

This is going to be tricky though. We’re not going to be able to do this one hundred percent legit, because if Mack and I erupted in some bar room brawl type shit as he drags me to the bedroom and I fight him the whole way, shit’s going to get broken. We might bust the coffee table or the tv, knock pictures off the walls, maybe actually put holes in the walls, and I don’t want Mack getting in trouble with his landlord. I won’t be able to really shout or scream either.

The last thing we need is for the sheriff’s department to come knocking on the door, then have to sit there and explain to the deputy no, we weren’t actually fighting, we’re secretly gay, fucking around behind his brother’s back, and I asked him to rape me. We’ll have to improvise. Or at least save most of the struggling for after we’re in the bedroom, on the bed, and we can wrestle with one another like that shit’s a gym mat and minimize the damage to Mack’s trailer. 

I try one more time to get up off Mack’s lap, but once again he holds me down and now he’s smirking. Knowing he has fantasies of just straight up taking that shit with or without my permission, suddenly everything about his inner psyche makes sense to me now. That devilish smile, that sadistic little laugh whenever I struggle against his tight grip, the way he likes to pin me down and hate-fucks me, it’s all in his body language that this is like his biggest kink right here.

He’s rock hard and throbbing, eyes blacked out with lust and he just straight up looks demonic right now, with that cold, sinister look that flashes on his face for a split second before he’s lifting us both off the couch. I think we’ll do this Mack’s way for the moment. I’ll let Mack decide how this plays out. So I let him sit up with me in his lap, then stand up and carry me to the bedroom. I wrap my legs tightly around his frame and my heart is racing that whole ten seconds it takes us to get there.

When we get inside, he kicks the door closed with his foot then sets me down on my own two feet. Then he just stares for a second. He’s not saying a word, and neither am I. But now we can begin. He tests me first, takes a step forward, and I take a step back. Then another. And then another. He reaches out to snatch me up by the collar and it’s like some kind of instinct kicks in because I’m ready to fight. I try to shirk him off me, jerking and twisting away from the touch.

He grins at me as I struggle, eventually reaching to wrap his arms around me and force me down onto the bed. I have to say, this is actually the hardest part. Pretending I don’t want it. I mean yeah it’s easy to let instinct take over and physically fight him, but acting like I don’t want him to fuck me? Because I mean goddamn! I’d be insane not to want this man. He gets me down on the bed and straddles me and I buck wildly trying to get him off me, but then he snatches me up by the throat.

He pins me down with both hands around my neck and slowly squeezes tighter until I can’t breathe at all. I fight to pry his hands off. It feels good and I kind of just want to let him choke me, but in actuality he’d be trying to choke me until I pass out, and I think he might actually do that right now. I see blackness on the edge of my vision as I start to lose consciousness and I stop struggling. But before I pass out, he lets me go and flips me over onto my stomach.

He pins me down with his hand on the back of my neck. Now that I can breathe again I attempt to fight a little half heartedly, try to push myself off the bed, hands fisting the sheets like I’m trying to claw myself away from him but his grip is too strong, his weight on me is too much and I can’t get away. “Don’t you fuckin’ move,” I hear him growl in what has to be the coldest, darkest voice I’ve ever heard and my dick jumps at the sound. Mack would make a really great super villain. Just saying.

I whimper a little at the sound, and now I’m writhing beneath him because I’m so fucking turned on right now, but I try to shift around like I’m still trying to get away from him, but I don’t actually move from that spot though. He keeps his hand on the back of my neck, but I feel the rest if his weight lift off of me as he digs in his nightstand for a condom, and then…oh shit, was that the clink of a chain I just heard?! Why yes, yes it was. I hear him drag the chain of the leash across the bed.

Holy fucking shit! I can already imagine him forcing that collar around my neck and using the leash to keep me from getting away from him while he fucks me and I want that so bad. I hear some more clinking sounds as he fiddles with the collar and leash before he takes his hand off my neck to instead snatch me up by my hair, roughly yank me up off the mattress and pull me to him. My hands fly up and without my even realizing it I’m back to fighting him as he slips that collar around my neck.

He uses his whole body to keep me in place as he forces the collar around my neck and buckles it. My heart his beating so violently in my chest I can hear nothing else but the rush of blood in my temples. I tug on his forearms like I’m trying to keep him from buckling the collar, but I don’t actually stop him from doing that part. Once it’s buckled around my neck I try to wrench away from him again but he grabs me and pulls me back. I’m squirming the whole time he’s clipping the leash to it.

But then you know what happens? He does something that genuinely terrifies me. I was expecting him to hold the leash, and maybe I might pretend that I can’t just unclip it, you know, like he’s actually got me chained up or something, but what he does instead makes me freak the fuck out, hard core. He lets go of the chain long enough to snatch be by the arms and force them behind my back. I’m now face down on the mattress with my arms being yanked up, then he pins my wrists.

Now I genuinely struggle for a second, pulse racing, breathing rapidly in fear and confusion as I try to figure out what he’s doing, and decide if I want to stop him. He’s taking the chain and wrapping it around my wrists to tie them behind my back. My arms are bent at a slightly uncomfortable angle and with each tug of the chain it pulls the collar tighter around my neck in the process until my head is pulled back too. Eventually my arms are forced up higher.

He wraps the chain around my forearms and I can’t fucking move, not without strangling myself in the process. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but like I can’t even move my arms apart. Not even a fraction of an inch and the chain digs into my skin. I’ve never been restrained like this before. I know he asked if he could tie me up, and I agreed, but I don’t really know what I was expecting him to do, and this certainly wasn’t it. The more I struggle, the more I choke myself in the process.

It feels good, but at the same time it doesn’t, and I’m not sure if I like it. Raven is on the tip of my tongue right now, and I never thought I’d ever find something that would make me want to use the safeword, but this is it right here. My mind races for a second as I debate on whether or not to say it. But then a thought stops me. This is the whole point, right? I mean I know it’s only supposed to be some roleplay shit and not actual rape, but isn’t that the point of this type of thing?

I’m not supposed to consent to this. I’m not supposed to want this. This is supposed to be about Mack having his way with me and doing whatever the fuck he wants to me whether I like it or not. He’s got my legs pinned down and even if I could get out of this position, there’s no way I could get out of the chain. Plus to make things worse he looped the chain around my hands too, so I can’t even snap my fingers. If he gagged me, there’s no way I could give him the signal to make him stop.

I’m not supposed to want this.

But there’s some part of my brain that’s feeling like that’s exactly how it should be. I should be feeling like this. I should be feeling like Mack can do whatever he wants and there’s no way to stop him. And with Mack in complete and total control over me right now there’s a part of me that just wants to let go and suffer the indignation. The part of me that loves him, and wants to make him happy, that will bend until I break to give him whatever he wants, whatever he needs.

My mouth stays closed and ‘raven’ dies on my lips.

I feel him clamp one hand around my mouth, the other on the back of my head and he raises me up just a little as he leans down close to my ear. I hear him chuckle. “Well, shit, I can do whatever I want to you now, can’t I?” I start to shiver a little and I can’t help but squirm. Part of me is still warring with this feeling of being trapped, the other part of me is wanting to get fucked so bad right now. It’s true. He can do whatever he wants to me. There’s no way to stop him.

In my mind I imagine a universe in which Mack wouldn’t stop even if I said the safeword. Where he’d just keep fucking me until I’m bleeding, crying and begging over and over for him to stop but he doesn’t. I don’t have to wonder if Mack is picturing that too, because now I know he does, and part of me just wants to move to that universe and just stay there for a while, so mentally I do. So maybe in the real world we have to have boundaries. Maybe in the real world we have to have limits.

But not in my imagination, and I have a very vivid fucking imagination. Evidently Mack does too. “You know I dream about that shit sometimes?” he tells me in my ear. “I’ll wake up in the middle of the night fuckin’ hard, after havin’ a dream of fuckin’ you just like this. Hearin’ you scream, makin’ you cry and beg for mercy. Fuck I love makin’ you cry,” he sighs. I shift around again, then feel him tug on the chain. “I picture it in my mind whenever I see those tears rollin’ down your cheeks.”

That’s fucked up.

Fuck I love him.

He lets me go and pulls away. He sits back on his calves and starts manhandling me so he can undo my belt and yank my pants down. Now’s the time to really put Mack to the test. To see if Mack is ready to have that fantasy in the waking world too. He gets my belt off and starts to tug my pants down. “Mack stop,” I blurt out, and for a second he freezes. Just a second though. I think it was just instinct on his part. Like you hear somebody say stop, you do it.

Maybe he was just also taking a moment to judge whether or not I’m just acting, or if I forgot about the safeword and I genuinely need him to stop. I don’t. I most definitely don’t. He continues, yanking my pants down and I give him more. “Damn it, Mack, I mean it! Fuckin’ stop! I ain’t playing!” That just makes him more furiously pull my pants and underwear off. I choke a little on the collar as I shift around, using that split second he takes his weight off me to act like I’m trying to get away.

But I feel him grab my legs and spread them apart. “Mack, please stop,” I choke out, and I hear him groan a little. “Please don’t do this,” I beg, trying to be as authentic as possible. My heart is pounding and every part of me is tense because I totally forgot to ask if he was just like going to shove that shit in with no prep or like maybe finger me first? And I don’t want to break character to ask. Plus that not knowing what Mack is going to do just kind of adds to the thrill of it.

I give it my all as I say, “Mack, baby, please,” in the most desperate voice I can muster and for a moment Mack just freezes in place again, just squeezing my thighs tightly, sucking in a hiss of a breath between his teeth. I think it’s just my voice. It’s really getting to him right now, and he’s getting off on that shit. Like, fuck sex, Mack could probably be happy just sitting there listening to me begging him not to rape me. “Please don’t hurt me,” I beg, and I scare myself with my acting abilities.

The discomfort I’m feeling in this position, mixed with the trickle of fear and anxiety at not knowing what Mack’s going to do, heightens my emotions and I start to genuinely tear up a little. “Please just let me go,” I sob. But of course he doesn’t. He keeps one hand on me, holding me in place, while with the other he unbuckles his belt and then opens his fly. Slips the condom on one handed too. It kind of sucks that we have to use a condom because I would really love it if Mack just shoved it in.

Oh but he does though. Instinctively I try to move away from it when I feel him stretch out above me and force the head in first, with no warning beforehand, none whatsoever. It’s going to take me days to recover from this, I just know it. Predicting that I might scream, Mack clamps his hand around my mouth tightly as he mercilessly shoves his dick in me, and I totally am. I’m sobbing into his hand for that first few seconds he slides into me, trying to jerk away from it, which only makes it worse.

I’m in so much pain that suddenly I’m not thinking clearly anymore and I react totally on instinct. I thrash, using every bit of strength I have to get away from him, only I can’t. “No! No no no no!” I sob as I’m trying to get away but he doesn’t let up and pretty soon I’m stretched completely full and he starts pounding into me, one hand yanking my head back, the other on my hip. There’s a strain on my neck, my hips feel like there about to break and my ears are filled with the sounds of Mack grunting.

Despite the insurmountable pain I’m in, something inside me sort of calms when I hear the sounds of Mack moaning and groaning and getting off on my pain. It’s almost like praise to hear it and a part of me lights up at those sounds. I relax into it and just take it, take the pain, letting out tiny moans and sobs with every violent snap of his hips against my ass. My eyes close and I space out for a little bit, adrenalin flooding me to try to combat the pain and I feel warm all of the sudden.

Like it’s a cold night and I’ve been shivering, but somebody suddenly threw a warm blanket over me and I go limp. I don’t know at what point I started babbling but I hear the sound of my own voice mixed in with the sounds of Mack’s pleasure in my ears. “Please…please, baby…please…” I don’t know why I’m begging but I am, because I want something, I just don’t remember what. My whole body feels like I’m swimming under water, or like I’m drunk or something.

You know how when you’re super trashed but you try to lay still it feels like you’re going to slide off the bed? I feel like I’m that level of trashed right now. Like I’m just floating around on the bed and I kind of like it. There’s a name for it. It’s like some kind of thing that happens when you’re in so much pain and your brain is suddenly filled with endorphins because of the adrenaline rush. What’s it called? Oh, right, subspace. Is that was this is? If so, it feels kind of nice.

I lay there and take Mack pounding into me over and over and over, my whole body warm and fuzzy like I was just slid into an oven and someone’s baking me like a cookie. My face is wet though, and I can’t lay my head down. I just want to lay my head down and drift off as Mack fucks me like crazy. He’s ridiculously hard inside me and violently shivering because he’s so close. My begging and pleading him to stop made him so insanely turned on.

It lit up every part of Mack’s brain like a fucking Christmas tree, and this whole time he’s been like two second from coming and has had to stop himself. Finally he just clamps a hand around my mouth, slows his pace, and says, “Baby, stop, please, you’re gonna make me come. I don’t wanna come yet.” He can’t handle it anymore. It’s too much for him. I mean I really drove him nuts. My mind is still somewhere in that cloud though, so I’m still whimpering behind his hand.

He slows to the pace of a snail inside me to keep from coming just from the friction.

I’m vaguely aware of him unclipping the chain from the collar, then the chain goes slack and I’m limp in his hand. I’m a fucking ragdoll right now and Mack could literally do anything he wanted and I wouldn’t have the strength to stop him. Pose me in whatever weird position he wanted and I’d just let him. Now that the chain isn’t clipped I can stretch my arms a little more and lay my head down. Unconsciously I shift around and I feel Mack lay down on top of me.

I’m rock hard right now and Mack adjusts his angle so that he’s right up on my prostate. Okay I gotta admit, without the collar and chain attached to one another, I really like this whole hands behind my back thing. I still feel the collar around my neck, partially cutting off my air, and I feel Mack’s warm body against me, but without so much restriction of movement. He props himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush me and I start slowly coming out of that drunken haze. 

I think it was just the position I was in. I kind of want it back, that floaty feeling, because I miss it, I mean, that shit was better than weed. But the feel of Mack behind me and his breath in my ear is great too. So great. Like, I just want Mack around me forever. Touching me in some way or another. No one else. Just Mack. I also want him to come, because I love driving him nuts like that, so I start babbling again. “Baby, stop,” I sob. “Stop. You’re hurting me.”

“Oh fuck,” I hear him breathe, sounding strangled. His movement becomes slightly erratic now, and just a little faster again. “Len, baby, don’t-don’t do that, I’m gonna-”

Oh yeah. Yeah, he’s gonna, alright.

“Please just let me go,” I choke out and he shatters.

I feel him come inside me. Violently too. It sounds like it physically hurts. He lets out a strangled groan, and then he’s letting out a string of breathless curses as he throbs inside of me. “Goddamn! I mean fuckin’ goddamn, baby! Jesus-Fucking-Christ-What-The-FUCK!”

He’s not mad or anything, I think he’s just in shock. Like, he physically becomes too weak for a second to even hold himself up and he nearly falls on top of me when he melts. His whole body his trembling wildly still and I think the slightest gust of wind could probably blow him right over. Weak as a newborn kitten, I tell you, and you have no idea how much it spikes my ego that he’s the one that’s broken for a change instead of me. That I had the power to do that to him.

But then he pulls away and my feel good moment is what gets shattered. For a minute or so I’m lost. I sob because he’s pulling out of me and I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to leave. But then he’s flipping me over, I’m on my back and he’s kissing me, snaking his tongue down my throat. Before, every touch was harsh and painful, with his tight grip in my hair and his fingers digging into my skin, but now it’s feather light and extremely affectionate.

You know it still amazes me that even though he’s such a sadistic fuck he’s also the sweetest, most gentle fucking creature on the planet after sex? He moves from my mouth to my cheek and then all over my face while he brushes my hair out of it, like I’m a precious gift from God or something. When he pulls back he’s staring down at me in I think what might be complete and total disbelief of what just happened between us. “What the fuck,” he breathes, totally awestruck.

Evidently I was better than the dream.

He unbuckles and removes the collar, tossing it aside. Then he reaches under me to unfasten the chain. I don’t know what he did, but I feel a little pinch, and then it just falls completely loose (I’ll have to remember to ask about that) He disentangles me from the chain and pulls me into his arms. He holds me tight, but not painfully tight and his touch is gentle. I think the roleplay has officially ended, Mack’s inner sadist has been satisfied, and now he just wants to take care of me.

My hands find his hair and tangle in it as he kisses me all over, then proceeds to give me the best blowjob I’ve ever had in my entire fucking life, fingers deep inside me, massaging my prostate. When all is said and done I haven’t the willpower to move, much less wipe my cum off my chest, but Mack has regained some sense of being while he went down on me and cleans me up afterwards. Then he flops down on the bed next to me with a languid sigh.

“Goddamn, that was…” He takes a breath. “I still can’t believe you’re into that shit,” he tells me and I chuckle. “I mean it’s…it’s kinda fucked up ain’t it?” I glance over to see he’s staring pensively at the ceiling, running a hand over his beard. “I mean, what’s that say about me? That I like that kind of thing?” I sit up a little when I notice how troubled he seems about it, like he thinks there’s something wrong with him because he liked it so much. I have the will to move now, and crawl to him.

I sprawl across his chest, looking down at him and say, “Hey, don’t be like that. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not some kind of monster. I mean yeah, you think about that kind of shit, and yes we just got done acting it out, but you’d never do that shit for real. There’s a big fucking difference between just having those kinds of thoughts and actually doing that shit. The day you actually go out and try to rape somebody is the day I’d start worrying. Okay?”

He snorts a little at me, but he nods and says, “Alright.” Then he pulls me close, tucking my head into the crook of his neck. “I love…” He pauses, and I see his adam’s apple bob up and down. “I love how smart you are sometimes. Smarter than me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. You always know the right shit to say. Makes me feel kinda dumb whenever I question shit. But you, you’re…”

“You’re not dumb, Mack.”

“But I’m not like you.”

“No, actually I think you and I are a lot more alike than you realize. And you always know what to say to make me feel better too.” I snuggle closer. “You’re fucking perfect, Mack, and I love…I-I love having a friend like you.”

“Me too.” He kisses my forehead. Then he chuckles. “But you know, I think since we just got done fuckin’ that kinda makes us more than friends.”

Yeah. It does. But what are we then, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


	32. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Smoke?”_
> 
> _“Yeah?”_
> 
> _“What was my dad like?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Solway Firth"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=06xJfZSFNX8&feature=share)

One Saturday afternoon I drive over to Smoke’s house. I pull into the driveway to see his Cavalier, Andy’s Ford Taurus next to it, and then a third car taking up the empty space so I have to pull up into the yard because there’s no room to park. But I don’t mind though, because the third car is a black ‘73 Chevy Nova, and it belongs to a guy by the name of Stoney Etheridge. Now Stoney? He’s an alright guy. I’m not as tight with him like I am with Mack and Andy, but we’re cool.

Him and his mom moved here from North Carolina when he was like fifteen, and he and Andy were like best friends in high school, but he doesn’t come around as often as he used to. Ever since he got out of prison he’s changed. More often than not he runs with a different crowd, and some of those people are the kind I don’t like. Stoney himself isn’t really a bad guy though. He’s just kind of…off, I guess. Like me, he’s kind of out there, only he’s the kind of crazy that makes me look sane. 

But he’s the guy that did all of my tattoos. He’s the best artist in the whole goddamn state if you ask me. He does incredible work over at this place out by the highway called Stains, and when I asked him to put the pink flowers on my side for my grandma he didn’t have a single smart remark about it. Like, none of that, “Bro you want pink flowers? That’s fuckin’ gay.” Nope. Just said, “Sorry about your grandma, man,” and inked me up. See? Not a bad guy, am I right?

But sometimes he says and does some shit that makes me wonder about him. I think five years in the state pen fucked with his head and he’s still got some of that mentality from when he was in prison, know what I mean? Like, he ain’t right in the head. Don’t tell anybody I said this, but besides Mack (Because I know how strong he is and what he’s capable of) Stoney is the only guy in town I’ve ever truly been afraid of, so I tend to keep my mouth in check when I’m around him.

Every once in a while he comes around, occasionally shows up at one of Andy’s parties, and we bump into each other, catch up on life and shit. I check to make sure I’ve got my phone, wallet, keys, cigarettes, then adjust the hat on my head, flipping it backwards per usual, then I walk inside. We don’t ever knock beforehand. Never have to at Smoke’s house. This is just as much our home as it is his. I kick my shoes off by the door and amble into the living room.

“Yo Twitch, whattup,” Stoney says when he sees me. “Long time no see.”

“What’s goin’ on, man,” is my reply and I walk over to the couch. Even after all these years, Stoney’s just way too much of a city boy for his own good. He’s a thug too, so much of one that he makes Andy seem so fucking white. Like I’m talking rice on a paper plate level of white. He listens to a lot of rap, shit like Eminem, Fifty Cent, Wu Tang Clan, Tupac, all that shit. He hates country music and rednecks way more than any of us. He’s the literal definition of a ‘wigger’.

I don’t care what kind of music he likes, nor do I care that he looks like Eminem after he stopped bleaching his hair, but I do care that he’s hogging the couch beside Andy. “Scoot the fuck over,” I chuckle, half sitting on him when I just plop down on the couch next to him and jokingly elbow him out of the way. Right now he’s got on a flat billed hat kind of sideways on his head and pristine fucking clothes, with a gold chain around his neck. But he’s fucking jacked though.

I may not be into all that homeboy shit, but yeah I’d fuck Stoney in a heartbeat, just saying.

“Man get the fuck off me,” he laughs, scooting closer to Andy who’s rolling a blunt. “You have remarkable fuckin’ timing,” he tells me and I smirk.

“He’s a fuckin’ hound, man,” Andy tells him. “He can smell a blunt bein’ rolled halfway across town, I swear to God, because his ass is _always_ here when I’m about to toke up.”

“So where ya been, kiddo?” Smoke asks me from his recliner. “Ain’t seen you around in a while.”

“Ah I’ve been busy with work and shit,” I shrug. “My…” I glance at Stoney and Andy. Stoney doesn’t know I’m gay. “My roommate has been driving me fucking nuts,” I say. “Oh but I met Lee’s new girlfriend the other day. You’re gonna love her. She’s fucking awesome.”

“Good,” Smoke grins. “’Bout time my niece had herself a good woman for a change. That one girl she was bringing around there for a while was nothin’ but a bad mouthed little hussy. Glad she’s finally rid of her.”

“Amen to that,” Andy agrees. “Like, that bitch wasn’t nothin’ but trouble, man. Her and Amy nearly got into it last time she was here because she wouldn’t quit comin’ onto me an’ shit. Pissed her off to the point she was ready to throw down.”

“Damn, I wish coulda been there,” I sigh, because I would love to see Amy beat the shit out of Sam. Matter of fact, I would pay to see that shit. Maybe even trip Sam up on her high heels to give Amy the upper hand right from the start then watch her just demolish that bitch. “I wish that bitch would just jump off a cliff, because for real Sam is numero uno on my fucking hitlist. Her and Justin are still friends and she’s at my apartment all the fucking time.”

“The chick’s hot though,” Stoney comments. “For real, like ta bang that bitch’s guts out. What’s the new one look like?”

Don’t ask me, because I don’t know. I’m not a very good judge of a woman’s attractiveness, and what I think women should look like might not be the same as what straight dudes think women should look like. But I’m just like, “I think she’s fuckin’ gorgeous.” Because Nay is fucking awesome. Out of the corner of my eye I see Andy smirking, like he knows my dilemma right now. Like, damn, I’ve gotten so used to being around people that know lately that I forgot how to act straight. 

But conversation fizzles out for a while as Andy lights the blunt and we pass it around. Smoke turns on the stereo and Stoney half heartedly bitches about the rock music, though he’s not being serious really, just yanking the old man’s chain. Then he looks over at me and stares for a half a second before he’s like, “Yo what fuck are you even wearin’ man? Whatchyou got on them tight ass fuckin’ pants for? You go to a Lady Gaga concert? Or did your tailor just run out of fabric?”

Smoke snorts a little. Andy’s cracking up beside Stoney and I’m just like, “What? They make my ass look good,” with a shrug, and Stoney chafes at me. “I’ve been told by very reliable sources that I’m indeed quite fuckable, so I figure if I got it, Ima flaunt that shit.”

“That can’t be comfortable though.”

“No it really ain’t. Like, I honestly feel like my nuts are in a vice right now.”

Stoney snorts. Andy’s done lost it at that. “So who you tryna impress? ‘Cause a bitch better look like a motherfuckin’ super model for me to fit my ass in a pair of pants that tight just for some pussy.”

Andy clamps his hand over his mouth to keep from saying something stupid.

Crazy enough, Smoke is the one to come to my rescue on this. Sort of. “A man’ll do crazy things when he’s in love.” He lights up a cigarette. “I remember this one time, back in the day, I let my girlfriend put spandex on me ‘cause she saw all the guys were wearin’ it, and she thought I’d look sexy in it like they did.”

“You did not,” Andy gasps, and Smoke nods like he’s saying, ‘For real, I did.’ Andy busts out laughing. “No fuckin’ way. Your ass put on fuckin’ spandex just to impress some girl?”

“My ass got laid that night,” he shrugs and I chuckle. (If I’m being honest, I’d probably wear spandex for Mack. I’d do _anything_ for Mack.) “And you ain’t got no room to talk.” He leans forward in his seat. “I’ve seen him take _four hours_ to spiff himself up when he knows Amy’s comin’ over to see him.”

Andy’s face falls and he scowls at Smoke. “Ohoho,” Stoney chortles. “Dude, your old man just outed you.”

“Yeah man that’s fucked up,” Andy says, kind of pouting now.

“But it’s true though,” I say. “Dude spends like forty-five minutes picking out clothes and shit.”

“Oh yeah, yeah Amy is most definitely a cover,” Stoney nods.

We laugh, and Andy waves us off like it don’t even matter.

Some time later, Andy and Stoney leave to make a run to the liquor store, also stop at the grocery store for snacks and shit, because we’ve all got the munchies like crazy, and pick up a pack of cigarettes for Smoke. I’m stretched out on the couch, high out of my mind, and I’m tapping my feet to some Tom Petty, when I get this crazy thought in my head. I don’t know where it comes from, but there’s some questions I want to ask Smoke, that I’ve never dared to ask before.

And since it’s just the two of us here, maybe now is a good time to bring it up. I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately, and I think I’m finally ready for the conversation. Like, I’m finally mature enough to handle it emotionally. I’ve been in a good place lately, all things considered, and it really doesn’t affect me as much as it used to, so I sit up on the couch and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Then I take a deep breath.

“Smoke?”

“Yeah?”

“What was my dad like?”

Dead silence is my answer.

I glance over when I don’t hear Smoke respond, and I guess my question shocked him just as much as me. He sets down the foot rest of his recliner and leans forward too, matching my stance and clasps his hands together, thinking. He’s got this faint trace of a sad smile, just the slightest upturn of the corner of his mouth as he stares at the floor, thinking about how to answer. This is huge, because we never talk about my dad. Smoke and I came to a mutual agreement on that shit years ago.

Malcolm Bordeaux is dead, and it’s better if that ugly memory stays buried with him.

But finally Smoke takes a deep breath and drawls slowly, “Well, he was a lot like you, actually.”

My heart falters a little in my chest, because the last thing a son wants to hear is that they’re anything resembling their murderous father. But I clamp my mouth shut and let Smoke finish. I hear him out, because I know there’s more he wants to say. 

And I think I’m finally ready to know.

“He was a good kid. He was always takin’ up for others, always helpin’ people out that needed it. He’d give the shirt off his back for somebody. He had a temper too. Bit of a mean streak, but had a lot of the same attitude like what you’ve got. If he saw somethin’ he didn’t like, he couldn’t just stand by and watch it happen and not say somethin’. Seemed like every other night he was gettin’ in a fist fight with somebody who’d been runnin’ their mouth, and finally Malcolm’d get tired of it.”

Smoke chuckles. “It wasn’t a party until Malcolm showed up. He was a loud, smart mouthed son of a bitch and you remind me of him more and more every day.” Despite my discomfort at the thought, I can’t help but smile a little. But then he sighs. “But them drugs, man, they fucked him up. That’s what hard drugs’ll do to ya. And his addiction it…it took over his life. Ate up his mind. When he started shootin’ up, that’s when he stopped bein’ himself and just…turned into somebody else entirely. 

But the worst part was gettin’ your mom mixed up in that shit too. He never should’ve gotten Keisha into all them drugs man. But both of them, they were always after that shit, feignin’ for it day and night, tryna get their fix. She lost custody of you, wasn’t even worried about tryin’ to get you back, or take care of you. Then at one point he started pimpin’ her out for their drugs and that’s when I threw ‘em both out. I couldn’t stand to see it anymore. It broke my heart to watch.”

I kind of lose it too when it gets to the part where Smoke tells me my dad was pimping my mom out for drugs. He turned her into a fucking crack whore. It’s hard to believe that a good guy, who took up for others, who didn’t take nobody’s bullshit, could turn around and be such a monster. But Smoke is right. Sometimes, that’s what drugs do to you, because nothing matters to you more than getting your fix. Makes you desperate, and willing to do _anything_ to get it.

Including but not limited to knocking over a convenience store and poppin’ a cap in the clerk behind the counter.

“Kinda wish I hadn’t,” he continues. “’Cause then maybe I could’ve helped him. Maybe I’d have stopped him from killin’ that guy.”

“Where’d he get the gun?” I ask.

Smoke sighs. “Nobody knows. My guess, he stole it from the guy him and your mom moved in with. Don’t remember his name.”

“I just cant believe he’d do that shit.”

“Me neither. When your dad knocked over that liquor store, I was sittin’ right here on this very chair, watchin’ it on the news. I was devastated. Your grandma, man, it nearly killed her when she found out her daughter died in the crash. When me and Eddie showed up for the funeral she laid into Eddie hard. Screamin’ at him, ‘You killed my baby! You killed my baby!’ Because she found out Eddie was the one that introduced them to all those people they were buyin’ their dope off of.”

“Eddie Macintosh?” I ask, glancing up at Smoke in shock, and I see him nod.

Mine and Mack’s dads were friends?

Holy shit.

Small fucking world, am I right?

“But your grandma, man, she was a good woman. It weren’t right for her to lose her daughter like that after just losin’ her husband the year before. Sometimes I think that’s why Keisha Let Malcolm get her messed up like that. She was ate up from losin’ her dad. She just stopped carin’. But it tore Eddie apart. I mean he really felt bad about that shit. Felt like he’d killed ‘em both himself. So when Brenda started screamin’ at him and punchin’ him he just took it all. 

All that pain, all that grief, and just nodded his head like he knew. Didn’t say a word about it. But Malcolm dyin’ was what finally got him out of all that shit he was involved in. Sobered him up. Made him realize if he kept goin’ down the road he was on, he’d end up just the same. End up losin’ little Mack and he couldn’t bear the thought of losin’ his kid. So he cleaned up, turned all them boys over to the feds. Testified against ‘em in court. Put ‘em all away for good while.”

Wow. My dad dying was what got Mack’s dad off of needles and shit?  
   
Smoke glances over at me, seeing the ever shifting emotions on my face as I turn all this over in my mind. “I think it’s real poetic that you and Mack ended up bein’ such good friends too,” he tells me. “Just like Eddie and Malcolm were. Ain’t much a surprise though really. Mack’s the spittin’ image of Eddie. Looks like him, sounds like him, even acts like him too. You kids are more connected than you realize. I think your dads would be proud to see their boys together.”

I snort a little at that. “Well yeah maybe as friends, but romantically involved? Smoke, come on.”

He just shrugs. “Might’ve taken some time to come to terms with it, but you know in the end, Eddie didn’t really care that his son likes other men. He just wanted him to be happy. That’s all that really matters anyway…And I ain’t inclined think your dad would mind all that much either.”

I shoot him the most incredulous look at that last statement. “What makes you say that?”

Smoke gets this cheeky little smirk. Then he leans in closer. “Well, let’s just say that a couple of months before he met your mom, a certain friend of his just so happened to walk in on Malcolm one night in a very precarious position with a guy by the name of Ronnie Stackhouse, in that very bathroom over there.” He points down the hall. My eyes follow his finger and they widen when I realize what he’s saying. “And let’s just say that it wasn’t a beer bottle he had his mouth around.”

“What?!” I laugh. “What the ever living fuck!” I palm my face. “No. No fucking way. My dad was bi?!”

(Also he hooked up with a guy in the very same bathroom where I first hooked up with Mack that night, and would’ve continued but we kept getting interrupted by Andy having to take a piss? Obviously it’s hereditary then.)

“It was the 80s, man,” Smoke shrugs, still smiling. “Every guy was bisexual in the 80s.”

I burst with a chuckle at that. I…I honestly can’t believe what I’m hearing. Granted, ninety percent of the conversation I wish I could pretend I never knew, especially with hearing what drugs eventually turned my parents into, but this is fucking crazy, man. For real, I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone here. This can’t be my life. The irony of my dad being best friends with the father of my best friend and lover. My dad being bisexual. My dad being…a _good guy_ , until drugs fucked him up in the end.

“Won’t you come back to the bedroom,” Smoke tells me, rising from his seat. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to show you.”

With a disbelieving snort I peel myself off the couch and follow him down the hall. He shuffles around in his closet, pulling a box off the top shelf that was hidden in the back behind some other boxes. He opens it. The box is filled with all kinds of random shit, but what Smoke concerns himself with is the photo album tucked inside. My heart jumps right to my throat. I have a feeling I already know what I’m about to see. Smoke sits on the bed and pats the empty spot next to him.

I gingerly sit and watch him flip it open to one of the back pages, and there, just as I had guessed, is a picture of a much younger Smoke, standing next to someone who could easily be mistaken for Mack, which is Eddie Sr, and then right there at the end is a twenty something year old male with my dark hair, my facial features, but with much darker eyes. I’m seriously freaking out right now because it honestly looks like me and Mack in a picture with Smoke from thirty some years ago.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. “Does...Does Mack know about this?”

“Yeah I showed it to him after his dad passed away. We got to talkin’ after the funeral. Asked him if he wanted copies but he said no. Had plenty of pictures of his dad already. Said I ought to keep it for myself.”

Wait so Mack saw this? So the day I showed him those pictures I have of my parents he already knew who Malcolm was? He didn’t say anything about it though. Of course, maybe he was just shocked to learn that Malcolm was my father. Or maybe he already knew everything, but he never told me, because he didn’t know if I would be comfortable discussing it. Maybe he just kept his mouth shut because he didn’t think any of it was his business.

Yeah, that sounds like something Mack would do.

I stare in disbelief at the picture still.

“Trippy, am I right?” Smoke drawls. “Sometimes I have to catch myself when I get really high? Because I want to call you Malcolm and call him Eddie. Freaks me out a little sometimes.”

“Yeah I can see why,” I comment. Then I swallow. “So…so my dad was…was a lot like me too?”

Smoke nods. “Yeah, he was good kid. He really was like a brother to us both. That’s why I’ll always think of you kids as my family. Family ain’t always blood, but what makes them special is the love in your heart. And I love you both like my own kids. So you’ll always have family here.” That really means a lot to hear. Like, I honestly feel like I might cry now. “Your grandma, man, she did a good job of raisin’ you,” he tell me. “You’re a good man, Lenny. She’d be real proud of you. And I think your dad would be too.”

I sniff a little. “Thanks man.”…

Sometime later after Stoney and Andy have made it back from the store, I’m in Smoke’s bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror over the sink. I think about that picture of my dad standing next to Eddie Sr, and just how much alike we look, despite Mack’s insistence that I look more like my mom. (I do have her eyes though, no doubt about it. Oh and her nose too.) I slowly take my hat off and let my hair fall in my eyes, and there he is. Malcolm Reece Bordeaux staring back at me.

I take a deep breath.

Knowing that once upon a time my father was a decent man makes me feel something I’ve never felt before. Pride. Thinking about my dad being just like me, and maybe even having his own friends, maybe people like Trevor that he stood up for, his own internal battle to fight, before the drugs inevitably won that war, it makes me feel at bit better about myself. Makes me hate him a little less. Makes me want to be that guy. The guy he was before he turned to heavy drugs and let them control his life.

And for the first time in all twenty eight years of my life…

…I miss my father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: ["Snuff"–Slipknot](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0YbsT0TJ0&feature=share)
> 
> Check out Diary's [YouTube Music Playlist](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs-Gis_eh6KtkF-9jZhq_POm)!
> 
> Here's the Tumblr: [lennysdiary.tumblr.com](https://lennysdiary.tumblr.com)


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